#fate loves spinning the wheel sometimes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr has 411 employees.

#fate loves spinning the wheel sometimes

boyfhee · 9 months

Text

⋆ OUR THING !

aka the things they do in a relationship!

pairing enhypen x gn reader genre fluff warnings teensy bit suggestive

HEESEUNG

places things on the top shelf deliberately because he just wants the excuse to walk up behind you and get that thing for you in the flirtiest way possible

you're tip-toeing with one of your arms outstretched to grab your favourite coffee mug, it's the cutest sight ever, and he's already behind you with a prideful smirk

"you can just ask me to get it for you, baby,"—he's a little too close to you, and you can feel his breath right on your neck, might as well brush his lips against your nape before muttering a quiet 'oops' as if it was accidental— "no need to trouble yourself," "and who do you think is the reason why i need to trouble myself?"— exactly your response because he put your coffee mug on the highest shelf, and yet he shrugs like he's innocent

he has no shame, he will pin your against the shelf and kiss you if he gets the opportunity ( he makes the opportunity ) simply takes the mug from your hand and puts it on the top shelf again, while his lips are on yours. coffee isn't in your fate

oh and he has also wraps his arms around you from behind when you're cooking, or doing anything, but mostly kitchen work. just something about him resting his head on your shoulder, eyes closed, as he hums a song right next to your ear, with a soft smile, swaying with you slightly to the tune, puts both of you at ease

JAY

he may not say it every time but he loves to see you in his clothes. so, picture him going through his closet and he pulls out one of his hoodies, and he's standing in front of you, putting it in front of you to see how it looks, just like mothers at the clothing stores

"hm, i knew blue was more of your colour"— every colour on the wheel is your colour if jay has it in his cupboard— "there, you can keep it," "love, that's third one this week. what are you going to wear?"— and you're genuinely concerned because half of his sweatshirts and hoodies belong to you, even a few shirts for some reason "we can always buy new ones for me"— terrible spending habits

loves to style your outfits. we know his fashion sense is over the roof so you look like a model every time you step out. actually, his goal is to match outfits with you when you go out, whether it's just a colour or a few accessories. not his fault you end up looking like you could get hired by dolce and gabbana

genuinely can't stop complimenting you. it's always him whispering 'you look beautiful,' and 'you're pretty,' and 'i can't keep my eyes off you,' in your ear with one arm around your shoulder or waist

JAKE

he's so silly and cute and smiley. he helps you with things all the time, not because he doesn't want you to tire yourself ( that is one of the reason ) but because he likes helping you around the house, whether it's with your stuff or just usual chores

also, he keeps looking at you with a smile? you'd be putting clothes in the washing machine and he's looking at you with a huge grin while also helping you. basically, it means he either wants a hug or a kiss or both

"jake-"— is deadass t-posing with a smile while standing behind you as you finish putting the clothes— "what do you want?" "what do you think i want?"— says with the same goofy and cute smile and he knows you won't say know because he's irresistible

sometimes, you'd see him at the other end of the house with same i-want-a-hug pose as soon as you return home from work or classes or whatever. then you run to hug him and pulls you in the warmest hug possible, spinning you to the slightest, kissing your cheeks. and you both just continue to hug for next five minutes

if he's in the mood, he will cup your face before you're about to hug him and pull you into a chaste kiss before hugging you. like, one time he kissed you with you were holding the laundry bucket and jake just took it and discarded it aside before pulling you closer because it was between him and you and he didn't like that. basically hugs are a must, kisses are the cherry on the top

SUNGHOON

so weird, he texts you even when you two are in the same room. you'd be sitting on the same couch, just on the opposite ends, and you can see his text notification pop up on your phone screen. he's texting probably something like 'so close yet so far' madam is a little goofy

and his texts are not normal. it's something completely unrelated, weird, maybe an old picture of himself or just some random pickup line. most of the time, he's trying to flirt with you over text

"hey gorgeous,"— his text reads, and you see a shit eating grin on his face as he sits opposite to you on the couch, typing something on his phone— "do you have a boyfriend?" "no"— you reply, and if you think saying no would do something to put an end to this insanity, you're wrong because he comes back ten times worse you can see him put his phone aside before crawling to your side of the couch, and he's almost pinning you against it— "you don't have a boyfriend?"— says with a smirk, leaning a bit closer to you, or rather your lips— "do you want one?"

look, you don't even get to say anything here because he kisses you before giving you a chance to speak. and it's not some random kiss, he's kissing you, as in taking your phone out of your hand and throwing it away to the other end of the couch, putting your arms around his neck before pulling you closer by your waist

he's kissing you with the intention of making out, which is usually his aim behind texting you from across the room

SUNOO

the ultimate sunoo headcanon i have is that you both do each other's make up. it's mostly him doing yours, says he asked his stylists for tips and he's going to try them on you. it's usually for fun, sometimes he follows a gwrm video on youtube on your request when you tell him that he's doing something wrong ( gets a bit sulky because why are you doubting his skills )

loves to do your eyeliner!!!! like he would hold your face ever so softly, carefully applying the eyeliner, saying something about how it won't be his fault if you end up looking like a ghost or something

"let me help you with the lipstick too,"— he's joking!!! and he's blushing slightly as he says that "alright,"— and now he's red. he's so nervous and flustered, and you know he's trying to laugh it off but then he looks at you again and realises that you're series "um ok,"— his heart is about to pop out of his chest

you can feel how nervous he is in the way he holds your chin, or the really flustered smile that's dancing on his lips, or in the way he backs off and leans at least five times to calm himself down

and if u peck his lips while he's helping you with your lipstick, he will literally pause. like it's so cute how easy it is so make him blush, he's probably smiling as saying how you need to stop teasing him. oh, but also, he loves to kiss your cheeks while doing your makeup

JUNGWON

wakes up at least thirty minutes before the usual time because you two end up cuddling and getting late for whatever plans you have for the day

he's punctual but also knows his mind sort of stops working when it comes to you so the moment he sees you sleeping next to him, all morals about waking up early and on time leave his body, and before he himself knows it, his arms are wrapped around your waist and he's pulling you closer to him

"maybe, we should get up,"— he says, his head still resting on yours, eyes closed, his half asleep already "definitely,"— but when you try to get out of his hold, removing his arms from around you, he just scoots even closer? like what happened to waking up early "five minutes more,"— the third 'five minutes more' so far

even if you two are awake, he will lay in bed with you, holding you close while his one arm is around you and the other is caressing your hair, occasionally kisses your cheeks while asking you about your plans for the day

most of the time you two end up sleeping again, but once he gets out of bed, he's making sure you're out of it too. would take away your blanket to force you out of bed, but it's only because he doesn't want to continue with his day without you

NI-KI

late night walks!!! he loves to spend time with you and loves it even more when you two are taking an early morning or late night with your hands interlaced together, strolling down the streets ( brings the 'it's you and me in this world' lyrics to life for him but you won't hear him say that )

"hey, let's go for a walk"— he's nudging your shoulders and would continue to do so until you wake up "it's one am,"— you think it would help you convince him but no, he doesn't care. odd timings are his things, and he would've had it another way if you didn't always give in to his requests

holds your hand and puts it in the pocket of his jacket because he doesn't want you to get old but it's only an excuse. sometimes just kisses the back of your hand while you're talking to him and asks if that makes your heart flutter. if u say no, he will kiss you randomly between words

going to the convenience store is a must. you're getting your favourite snacks and then you two are going to the swings in the park. late night escapades with him are fun and it's only a matter of time before you both are snuggled up together while sleeping on the couch

2K notes · View notes

osiris-iii-bc · 5 months

Text

Papa’s playlists - music headcanons

Sometimes when I listen to music I mentally associate what I’m listening to the Papas, so I thought it would have been fun to imagine a 10 songs playlist for/of each Papa. I have chosen the songs by their personalities, the kind of music they have done and the general vibes I get when I listen to the songs.

Primo:

I see him sitting on his couch by the fire, immersed in his voluminous, rich vestments. He can listen to the heaviest doom metal tune without moving an inch of his body, fully immersed in understanding the lyrics, but 70s rock always brings back his old memories of when he used to throw small parties in his chamber whenever the Beatles or his favorite bands released a new LP.

The Beatles - Come together

Black Sabbath - Iron Man

Mayhem - Freezing moon

The Rolling Stones - Start me up

Candlemass - Bewitched

Bathory - A fine day to die

Mercyful fate - Evil

The animals - House of the rising sun

Slayer - Seasons in the Abyss

Diamond Head - Am I Evil?

Secondo:

He has two sides: the old-school metalhead and the devoted enthusiast of good old symphonic music. He prepares himself a cigar and settles at his desk, embracing the darkness like the nocturnal creature he is, to work on papers or perhaps write some lyrics inspired by his favorite arias. In his playlist, you can always find something classy followed by something extremely heavy.

Led Zeppelin - Kashmir

Slayer - South of Heaven

Venom - Don’t burn the witch

Giuseppe Verdi - Dies Irae/Tuba Mirum

Deep Purple - Perfect Strangers

King Diamond - The family ghost

The Doors - Riders on the storm

Guns and Roses - Coma

Bobby Vinton - Blue velvet

Antonio Vivaldi - Four Seasons

Terzo:

Ah, Terzo. Whether he's completing his nighttime skincare routine, getting dressed for a mass, preparing for a date, or simply relaxing in his chambers with a good wine, he always has a record playing in the background. He's not a headbanger, but he likes to keep the tempo with his hands. He taps his fingers on his thigh to match the drum tempo of most rhythmic songs or moves his hands softly to the sound of the mellower ones, like when he listens to "Barcelona," adjusting his hand movements based on the virtuosity of the voices.

Candlemass - Well of Souls

The struts - Kiss this

Metallica - Until it sleeps

Metallica - For whom the bell tolls

Kreator - People of the lie

Freddie Mercury feat Montserrat Caballe - Barcelona

David Bowie - Starman

Pentagram - Sign of the wolf

Sepoltura - Dead embryonic cells

Mercyful fate - Witches dance

Copia:

I can totally picture Copia putting on something groovy like "Stuck In The Middle With You" while attempting to cook something, swaying his hips to the rhythm and inevitably either burning whatever is in the pan or creating a mess on the counter by dropping bottles and food.

Alice Cooper - Poison

Iron Maiden - Run to the hills

Steppenwolf - Born to be wild

Dead or Alive - You spin me round

Black Sabbath - Paranoid

Judas Priest - Painkiller

The Rolling Stones - Sympathy for the devil

Stealers wheel - Stuck in the middle with you

The Darkness - Love is only a feeling

Bon Jovi - You give love a bad name

Nihil:

An old-school rocker. He would pick you up in his car with Led Zeppelin playing at full volume, take you to a bar where he puts on your favorite song in the jukebox, and by the time you come back from the toilet, he's kissing some random girl right at the bar counter. He would later apologize, claiming he was just drunk and thought that was you… a red flag you'll ignore.

The Doors - Touch me

Led Zeppelin - Whole lotta love

Elton John - Tiny dancer

Ozzy Osburne - Crazy train

Deep Purple - Child in time

Deep Purple - Hush

Jefferson airplane - White rabbit

Elvis Presley - Suspicious minds

The Rolling Stones - Paint it black

The Beatles - Helter Skelter

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost headcanons #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv #copia #headcanon #the band ghost fanfiction

57 notes · View notes

limerenceheart · 7 months

Note

I've seen like ONE person talk about it but I really like the idea that Blade is against anything bad happening to his darling, yeah sure he's definitely a sadist but not with them! (He honestly reminds me of a dog, one that's really friendly and sweet towards one person!) So I'd love if you could do something about that!

hi anon! i have never seen that post about blade from that light so this was completely written from my own perspective. it def seem like a possibility regarding the dog thing, if blade could find a cure to his mara struck condition. if a day ever come where hsr release his backstory, i'm sure he would be a completely different person.

trigger warnings - violence and intrusive thoughts.

blade didn't like the power that you have over him despite having no idea about it.

he should view you as easy to dispose of if you ever went too far but when he found himself impaling another man with a spear for deliberately tripping you over, the lightbulb went off.

his darling meant something to him.

blade should have disconnected himself from his darling afterwards but when he came back to the hotel's room that he was sharing you, surprisingly for once, you didn't tried to lunge at him.

blade wasn't entirely sure whether you were accepting your fate or you really didn't want any more bruises painted across your arms.

either way, it was enough for him to not abandon his darling considering how fragile you were.

it wouldn't take a lot to bring you down, if another bastard came along and slammed you against a brick wall, it could lead to a broken limp.

or the idea that someone could whisk you away but he rather than dan heng came along and attempted that so he could kill two birds with one stone.

at the end, blade's approach towards his darling completely changed.

you thought blade was bad enough as stoic but you rather he went back to normal than having his undivided attention.

it felt suffocating like having a dog to sniff your scent to track you down.

it became too eerie how blade somehow managed to knew what you wanted whatever he would come to your home prison to shower you with things that you always wanted.

it got to a point where you searched every crook of your room to see there was cameras installed anywhere but nothing.

the most shocking and startling change was that blade wanted a form of affectionate as a thank you like giving him a peck on the cheek.

you would laugh your ass off at the mere idea if you knew he wouldn't skin you alive.

but sometimes, blade would return back to normal and luckily, you didn't know that he was fighting to urge to give you bruises as his sign of ownership.

you were grateful but blade was going past the driving point of insanity and neither parties have an idea about the other feelings, how ironic.

one thing for sure it felt like blade was playing a game of russian roulette where you never knew when the wheel would start to spin.

but why? what happened for blade to change so much?

you didn't want to ask though otherwise blade might goes one step further.

you didn't want to experience the next stage.

#honkai star rail #hsr #blade #hsr blade #yandere blade #yandere blade x reader #blade x reader #hsr x reader #hsr blade x reader

107 notes · View notes

amoristt · 9 months

Text

PART 2 BAYBEEE this has completely revamped my love for marble hornets . anon i literally love u SOOO bad for reminding me of this time to binge the entirety of mh for the 10th time

-as always comments/reblogs are appreciated! - wanna tip me? heres my kofi!

Escape Fate | Tim (Masky) x Reader Pt. 2

"For fuck's sake!"

The engine of your car cries out as you jam the gas down to the floor. Rock spit out from your tires, fishtailing out as you struggled to juggle the steering wheel and hanging up the cell phone in your hand. Every couple of seconds your eyes would flick to the rear view just in case that... person was chasing you.

Tim was never known for his ability to answer on the first call. Sometimes the man wouldn't answer at all- you knew this. It was never an issue until now, your mind scrambling to focus on the road. You'd narrowly escaped with your life and it was all thanks to some masked stranger.

With an angry huff, you toss your phone onto the passenger seat and white knuckle the steering wheel, eyes fixated on the road. Flashes of your meeting with death play on rewind in the back of your mind like a projector. The deranged look on Alex's face down to the moment you'd locked eyes with your savior.

Your mind spins on where your destination lies, but it chooses your home. You drive in total silence, listening to nothing but the sound of your car and the wind howling through your cracked window. It's almost like being on autopilot, your eyes distant and far away as you pulled into the driveway. Somewhere deep in your brain, you knew that you should have gone to the police station, but yet you still pull yourself from your car and numbly unlock your front door before slipping inside without a word.

It only takes a few moments before you let yourself fall into your couch cushions. You'd been so close to death you swore you felt its breath down your neck. The warbled memories you have of the masked man force their way to the forefront of your mind. You had so many questions- who was he? Why had he given a shit to save you?

Why did he follow you out to the street?

The thought of him possibly not saving you, just choosing Alex first strikes you, and it draws a cold sweat from your skin. Perhaps you hadn't been saved at all.

Worry spreads like wildfire through you, and in seconds you're up and locking every single window in the house, double-checking any doorways. You want to put on the deadbolt for the front door, but then Tim couldn't get in. You settle back on the couch, glad that other than the coffee table and recliner chair, you had a perfect view of the front door in case anyone tried to break in. The only window was along the far wall with its blinds drawn. Still, sunlight filtered in through the cracks.

A clatter on the floor beside causes every fiber in your being to jump, but when you glance over the edge, you realize it's just your phone falling from your pocket onto the hardwood floor. The screen lights up.

Low battery.

You pick it up and send Tim an urgent message, demanding he come over as soon as possible. And if he sees Alex, run.

Exhaustion riddles you. It doesn't feel real anymore, the memories flashing through your mind. They seem like the frames of a movie now, warped and far away and quite frankly insane. It felt like a nightmare that you'd woken up from, not reality.

After a good sleep to collect yourself, you would go to the police and tell them everything that had happened. And when you woke up, maybe Tim would be there smiling at you from the chair and asking if you were alright. He would touch your face and kiss your forehead, climb onto the couch beside you, and pull you against him. He would make you feel safe.

The idea comforts you enough to lull you to sleep.

You don't dream of anything. In fact, if the sun hadn't sunk down beneath the horizon and cast the world in night, you wouldn't even have known you slept at all.

Groggy-eyed and tired, you crack your eyes open. The first thing you notice is how unbelievably dark it is. From your position on your back, looking straight up, you can't even make out where the ceiling begins. Your eyes struggle to adjust, finding the only light in the room to be the streetlights cascading in through the window. With the blinds open on the far right, the light pours in just enough to fill the room midway in orange.

The second thing you notice makes your blood run cold underneath your skin.

You'd had your blinds completely shut when you fell asleep.

You were sure of it. But now they're open on one side. Your mouth runs dry.

Slowly, as if afraid to alert something, or someone, you roll onto your side and tap at the floor in search of your phone. When you're finally able to find it, you tap the power button. Then, when nothing happens, you feel your stomach churn.

It was fucking dead. You'd forgotten to plug it in before your slumber.

And to make matters worse, a third thing gathers all of your attention at once: movement.

Right across from you, perched up on the reclining chair, you make out a pair of jeans and heavy, dark boots. Fear strikes you like a lance. Your breath completely stops in your throat. In the dead silence, you're horrified to realize you can hear breathing that wasn't your own. Slow, long drawn breaths, like the figure was simply observing you.

Maybe it was Tim. You had messaged him hours ago, maybe he'd come in while you were sleeping and didn't want to disturb you.

"Tim?" Your voice cracks as you whisper, fear gripping you by the neck. Doubled when he doesn't answer. Tripled when those legs shift just barely. The energy seeping from the figure is downright evil.

Dread engulfs you as you realize your fate. It was Alex. It had to be. He'd broken in and waited for you to wake up like it was some sick fucking game to him, and trapped you within the confines of your very own home.

All alone, with your phone dead on the floor.

You hope you're just dreaming still. But then his breathing picks up and you're plummeted back into the awful reality that was your inevitable death. And instead of running, fighting, struggling for your life and doing something to get away, you just sit there. You remain still as a statue- like somehow he hadn't seen you. Like if you just don't move, neither will he. The moment is long and agonizingly silent, the air thick with tension, your lungs unable to bring in oxygen.

Time passes in slow motion and your eyes struggle to adjust to the everlong darkness. If you weren't abhorrently frozen with fear, you'd probably just burst out crying right there, pathetically begging for your life. You didn't want to die- not fucking now, when you knew the one finding your body would end up being Tim. Not by Alex, someone you considered your friend.

You always knew he'd been losing a few screws but for fucks sake this was murder.

"Please," You start, voice barely even above a dying whisper. "Don't hurt me."

That same feeling of death's breath on the nape of your neck returns to you. Goosebumps riddle your skin. The air so palpable you could reach out and grab it in the anticipation of his response.

The chair creaks. You almost gag on your tongue. The figure leans forward and rests his gloved hands on his knees. Light finally catches his features and you make out a white mask, with dark eyes and painted lips. That same mask that was running laps in your mind since you'd seen it.

Fear saps up and down your spine like electricity. The man had followed you home.

You hate that you stay stuck in place as he get's up from his crouched position and slowly saunters towards you. Like an animal, he climbs onto the coffee table and towers over you with shadowed eyes. Frantically, you search for something, anything human in those dark eyes. You find nothing but shadows. The man feels almost feral, tilting his head side to side as he drew closer to you. His gloved hand reaches out, and traces a line down your jaw, just barely touching over your skin.

Something in the way he touches you finally causes you to react. It makes the moment real, you could feel him touching you. You heave yourself up and try to scrabble off the couch, kicking your legs out. But he's faster. He's stronger- and in the blink of an eye, he grabs your shoulders and hauls you onto your back once more, forced to watch up at him with helpless eyes. When you try to shove him away, he catches your hands and pins them beside your head at the wrists. How simple it is for him to restrain you is terrifying. He wasn't even trying and he still managed to trap you in a second's notice.

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!" You babble, eyes squeezed shut and your legs uselessly kicking out. He straddles you and you sob in vain. "Please, my boyfriend will be here any moment just- just leave! I won't tell!"

But the man just tilts his head again. Does it like he doesn't understand.

You're already in tears when he barely loosens his grip on your wrists. Dreadful reality dawns upon you, and you realize you had been right after all. He hadn't saved you. You escaped him just as much as you'd escaped Alex.

Tears slip down your cheeks. He just inches closer until you can hear the sound of his soft breaths from behind his mask. If God was around, he'd hear your endless prayers begging for the strength to get away or for someone to help you.

But clearly, he isn't, because the man lets your wrists go just long enough to touch the sides of your face. Slowly, carefully, they pet down your skin and wipe away those tears freely falling from your wide eyes. And Christ, you let him. You could be fighting back, snarling and clawing. Instead, you're barely breathing, frozen and feeling your life tick away by the second.

He dips his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers ball into fists beside your head, and you feel him breathing you in.

"What the fuck." You whimper, shaking like a leaf underneath his form. The seconds pass like hours.

After a tense pause, the only audible sound being your combined heavy breaths, he pulls his head away a few inches to look into your eyes. Though you struggle to see his, you can feel them on you like fire. Like those eyes are wrapping around your neck, choking your breath away.

And then you really do think your breath is stolen from you- gone when you feel the unmistakable texture of his gloves move once more. He runs his fingers down your bare neck, to your shoulder. Feather light touches over your collarbones that make you squirm underneath him. Those fingers linger over the line of your cleavage and your stomach flips.

They only stay for a few seconds. Then they're southbound which causes an even heavier pit of dread to settle in your stomach. His head tilts while he explores your clothed body, the fabric of your tank top bunching up around his fingertips. He moves them slowly, languidly, like he's exploring you. Trying to memorize the point where your waist meets your hips.

In the worst way imaginable, it feels... Familiar. You can't put your finger on it but you've been touched like this before, had the curves of your soft skin mapped out by wandering large hands. The same path, the same lingering pauses... The low sounds of his soft breaths reach your ears, and you recognize them.

Your chest heaves, your skin warm.

Only further blossoming in heat when the man leans back and you feel the weight of him rest on your hips. His hands settle on your waist, his burning gaze lingers over your form. The streetlight filtering in paints the outline of him. Glows in the loose strands of brown, messy hair.

Reveals his brown cargo jacket and the broad build of his shoulders. Your lips part in a gasp. His head lowers and you catch a glimpse of that unmistakable facial hair just as his fingers dip underneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Your skin vibrates under his touch. You can't take it anymore.

"Tim...?"

You'd said it so quietly that you almost wonder if he'd heard it at all.

But he did. He freezes and snaps his gaze straight to you. The first real reaction you'd gotten out of him so far- and it only further confirms your question.

Your mind reels, thoughts spinning out of control. It feels like you're dreaming all over again.

The man- Tim, straightens his back as he stares down at you, his gaze heavy and undeniable. Even fully clothed underneath him, you feel naked. So exposed. His hands retract from under your shirt and rest at his sides loosely.

You'd always known Tim struggled with mental illness. Even early on in the relationship, it was a known fact after you'd found his medication. He always refused to elaborate beyond just telling you he was 'managing' it- and though you of course always felt a sense of curiosity to know more, you didn't want to pry. Plus, it was true. He was managing it. You'd never seen a single outburst, episode, or really... Anything other than some paranoia. And even that never got the best of him.

Just as you were his, he was your comfort, your peace.

But this was something else entirely. This wasn't even him anymore- it couldn't be. This man was too animalistic, moved too feral for it to be true.

Yet this appearance rang true.

His thick brown hair, and squared shoulders. His usual attire and those sideburns that only he could pull off.

But you had to be sure.

You had to be sure that they shared the same face. The same soulful, tired eyes.

To your shock, Tim doesn't react when you prop yourself up to your elbows. Nor does he react when you slowly reach up with a tentative hand and graze your fingers along the hard edge of his mask. You touch at the side of his face- the only visible skin. He sighs when you make contact, long and drawn, almost as if he enjoys the feeling. Just barely, he leans into the touch.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

Drops when you tug at the elastic band holding the mask to his head, and he finally reacts.

Violently.

Tim rips away from you like you'd burned him and stumbles backward, failing to climb off you properly and instead flipping over the armrest at your feet. You hear his back smack the hard ground with a thud and then absolute silence.

The silence only lasts so long. Because suddenly there's clamoring, his feet kicking out, and by the time you're up and peering over the edge of the armrest he seems to be full-blown seizing there on the floor.

Now this you had seen before.

Like every other time, you rush to his side, mind completely forgetting the entire scenario that'd happened moments ago. As much as you want to grab him, hold him close until it's passed, you know you can't. Instead, you kneel beside him, covering your mouth, silently begging for it to be over with, counting the time in 30 second intervals.

The light outside finally shines over his mask. You see his eyes through the gaps.

Thirty seconds.

His body tense, finger's balling into fists. You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes.

One minute.

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

Minute, thirty seconds.

"Tim!"

Finally, like he hears you, he stills. Your heart thrashes in your chest.

In the blink of an eye, you're pulling at the bands of his mask. It peels away with little restrain, and there he is.

Tim. Your Tim. His eyelashes resting heavy over his cheekbones- like he'd simply fallen asleep. Like he'd been here the whole time completely unbothered. His lips are barely parted enough for his soft breaths to creep through. You aren't sure if you should feel relief or fear. All you feel is raw confusion and anxiety eating you alive.

First Alex, now this? What the hell was going on?

Tim makes a soft sound and you look at him with wide eyes, cautious in the waking presence of the man you'd once felt to be your protector. What would you do if he remained the same as before? If when he opened his eyes, you were assaulted all over again?

Another quiet chirp escapes him, and you reach out to gently hold his face. When his eyes finally open, you're the first thing they see. A part of you tells yourself to back away just in case. The rest of you demands you stay planted beside him no matter what.

You listen to the ladder.

His gloved hands come up to paw at your wrists and for a moment, you're afraid your worries proved true. But then, in his low voice, he speaks. And you nearly collapse onto him, a puddle of solace.

"Baby...?"

#marble hornets #tim wright #masky #creepypasta #tim wright x reader #masky x reader #huehuehuehue #ill probably make a third and final part ngl #mayhaps with a smut sequel... whomst knoweth #i want tim so fucking badly

77 notes · View notes

lamemaster · 14 days

Text

A Penance Unwanted

Request: Hi!🙂 How are you? ❤️Can you please spin the wheel for Gwindor? Thanks 💝✨️

Pairing: Gwindor x Reader

Genre: Timeloop au

AN: @mairablue Thanks for requesting!! Gwindor is awesome gotta love him. Such a fun concept. (What in the Hell is Happening Event)

“God dammit! You should have held him.” You groan watching Beleg die for the 25th time. Gwindor winced next to you. And from a distance you both watched Turin lament in the same low groaning pitch for the same 25th time.

“I couldn’t have done that!” Gwindor replied indignantly. “Beleg wouldn’t listen. Look at these arms, do you think I can stop Cuthalion? You should have killed the orcs and then hit Turin on the head or something.”

There had been a time when Beleg’s death daunted both Gwindor and you into silence. But now, it was a recurring event. Painful but numbed by the inevitable recurrence.

You were back at it again. Stuck in the storyline of Turin and Beleg’s tragedy. Whatever deity found this funny had a messed-up sense of humor.

"Next time, take Beleg through a longer route," you muttered, forming yet another plan, your voice heavy with a weariness born of repetition. "I'll try to find a way to poison the orcs, and hopefully, knock Turin out before he…" You trailed off, the futility of the task gnawing at you. But giving up wasn't an option. There had to be a way to break the loop, a way to alter the story.

"I swear to god if this is damned Melkor," you muttered, waiting for the inevitable reset. For both you and Gwindor to return to the past, to relive Beleg's death, and Turin's despair.

Knocking out Beleg, setting traps, and almost battling the thought of driving your sword through the emo king of Arda. This stupid loop tested you in every way. And most of all Gwindor who, unlike you, couldn't escape the grasp of Melkor's evil. The weight of his struggle, the subtle changes in his personality with each loop, filled you with a cold dread.

“Melkor can only so long imprison the children of Illuvatar,” Gwindor replied gently. His voice- so peaceful despite the pain he witnessed every reset. Taking your hand in his he continued, “We will find a way. One way or another you will return to your world and I will come to bear my fate.” There was this amazing elf. Comforting you when the hell broke loose around him.

There was something truly extraordinary about this elf. Here he was, trapped in an endless cycle of loss, yet he offered you comfort when the world around him crumbled. You couldn't help but wonder if it was the same unwavering faith in the good that led to his capture in the first place.

It wasn't the scars or marks of torture that marred his once-handsome face that hurt you most, but the sheer unfairness of it all. He, who deserved a life filled with music and laughter, was trapped in this nightmarish cycle, forced to relive his torment while offering you solace.

"It isn't me you should be comforting," you chuckled, the sound hollow even to your own ears. "This is my penance. A fate that has led me to this nightmare, a well-deserved one." You didn't remember much of your world, only flashes – the resentful faces of strangers contorted in anger, the screaming voices that echoed relentlessly in your head, driving you to the teetering edge of insanity. You remembered everything but Gwindor from the rotten book you found in your dingy cell, the only companion in your solitary confinement.

The same one who now sat beside you, his hand warm against yours, a beacon of comfort in this unending darkness. "I deserve this. You don't," you whispered, the words heavy with a self-loathing you couldn't quite explain. He, who you sometimes questioned was real or a figment conjured by your fractured mind.

No. You wouldn't accept this twisted fate. You would break the loop, not just for your own sake, but for Gwindor's. Even if it meant defying the very fabric of this story, you would find a way to free him from Melkor's clutches.

Fuck Melkor, Ocrs, Turin, Valar, Illuvatar, and his wretched song. You were going to tear it all apart.

#silmarillion x reader #what in the hell is happening event #gwindor x reader #timeloop au #Beleg #Turin

19 notes · View notes

fluffalpenguin · 10 months

Text

@arcvmonth day 24: the manga

oh man oh MAN it's vj day!!!!!

it's pretty funny how all my gifs are mostly yuri-centered huh

Under the cut:

revisiting my review of the manga from last year

Headcanons and fic/comic ideas

rambling about an old WIP

small playlist! (with write-ups!)

First of all, here's the 3,000 words analysis/blog thing I wrote last year when I first finished it.

One and a half years later, I still largely agree with it! There's some headcanons I wrote in there that I completely forgot about, lol, so I'm glad past me posted it somewhere for current me to relieve it again! (The rants were also kind of funny to re-read too)

***

Next, headcanons!

Lately, I found myself wondering about Yuto and Yuri's outfits; specifically-

...Why are they walking around Maiami with dramatic red/black capes?

After some time in the kitchen, I decided that when Yuya was younger, he was really into good versus evil roles when rehearsing his dueltainment lines. And who else better to serve as his practice opponents than his two brothers who aren't off busy making rounds at the stadium on a D-Wheel?

Tying his own fluffy, white towel around his shoulders, Yuya throws a nearby black blanket to Yuto. The oldest is initially a little embarrassed about the notion, but no one can ever say no to the baby of the Sakaki family, can they? (He'll just have to live the shame down from the twins later on... They barely even respect him as they are right now, anyway) In the middle of the duel, Yuri walks in onto the two of them after having finished his homework (or tweaking his deck). He raises an eyebrow at Yuto's appearance, but gets the gist of the situation when he sees their duel disks activated and Yuya standing on top of the sofa in a similar attire. As Yuto steals Yuya's schtick and becomes a tomato, Yuri pouts about being left out and quickly leaves to hunt for something that will allow him to join the fun. When the duel ends, Yuto passes the baton to Yuri. As he watches the two rattle off silly, goofy lines like, I will destroy the planet, the universe, all the worlds! and, Never! I'll stop you, fiend!, Yuto sighs in relief. At least Yuya now has Yuri to LARP with. Maybe Yugo would volunteer too, once he returned from driving practice and hears about it. Though, he'd likely ask to play the part of the hero himself. Anyway, Yuto's already almost in middle school; he's getting a little too old to play with costumes now. Then afterwards, at dinner, with an angelic smile Yuya says, "Yuuto, can we play like that again sometime? You look so cool with a cape!"

Yuri on the other hand, always had a tendency for the melodramatic, his own personal spin of the theatrics he's seen from his dad! Deep down he really loves playing the villain.

(This was meant to be a short description but I couldn't help putting some fic-like sentences in there tehe also yes that's a reference to the conversation between Yuya and G.O.D./Eve)

***

(warning: angst ahead)

Another headcanon I have that I want to write/draw something for is that in the postcanon where Reiji, Yuya, Isaac and Ren travel through space and time together, Yuya has moments where he falters to his grief.

He's used to his brothers commenting and nagging him on almost anything and everything (A midnight snack? Think about your complexion, Yuya!) and his world is suddenly a lot more quiet. In his hurt, he starts to avoid Ren, not wanting to be reminded of what he's lost (He doesn't feel good about it).

Eventually Reiji intervenes and Yuya opens up a little. He's been unable to properly let himself grief for his brothers. All he wants to say is that he misses them.

But he doesn't feel like he has the right to do so, having being the one to seal their fates by personally destroying the one method of bringing them back to life. He doesn't regret his decision of course, but he's unable to stop himself from feeling this way too.

It has a happy ending; Reiji convinces Yuya to talk to Ren. Yuya shares stories about Yugo at Ren's request, making the both of them laugh. Yuya realises that there are other methods of bringing back people to life, too, even if only momentarily.

But it is enough.

***

Misc hcs:

Yuya's charisma and attitude is a combination of his three brothers fawning over his cuteness from birth and Yuya being so star-struck with Yusho's performances he attempted to replicate the movements ever since he could walk.

Being the oldest, Yuto feels a sense of responsibility for his brothers and pledged to take care of them in place of his always-missing parents. However, he oft times finds himself not having to do much because Yugo and Yuri are so determined to win over Yuya's heart (and be proclaimed 'favourite brother') that they also make sure to set a good example for the youngest when possible. This causes Yuto a little bit of an identity crisis (/j it's just for fun) until he settles into his role as the househusband cook.

"All of us... are connected by... the arc of destiny!"

Reiji and Yuya are supposed to be silhouetted by their fathers, so Yuzu is meant to seem like she's looking at Yuya, but is in fact looking at Yusho. I also think VJ Yuto should be allowed to smile more!

This drawing is meant to be my love letter to the manga as a whole, and ESPECIALLY the last duel between Reiji and Yuya. I talked about it a whole ton in the review linked above already, so go check that out if you haven't!!

I was really happy with the composition when I first made this, especially with Sora/Ren/Isaac Versus the Yus mirroring their duels! (Well, okay, I know Isaac didn't duel Yuto but.... just give this to me)

Anyway I really wanted a fun and positive energy for it! Every month I think about returning to this but I get slightly demotivated when I realise I have *zero* colour references for both Ren and Isaac... Please send in your headcanons...

***

Last but not least, last month I got brain worms for another animatic/hand-drawn MV for Eve's Fight Song! I'll never ever have to time to go back to it, but I wanted to take the chance to talk about other songs that make me ill when I think about them with the manga.

1. Myth & Roid - TRAGEDY:ETERNITY

Don’t give me an eternity Even if that’s all I can believe Press pause on the flow of time In the shadow of the blink of an eye I don’t wanna fall into a sleep ‘Cause now you are my remedy Now knocking on, knocking on, knocking on my brain Even for the temptation of a nightmare Fate demands a costly reparation for its fare

Translated lyrics mostly from lyrical-nonsense, but I made some changes for better rhyming and flow yahoo!! This song is what I imagine the OP would be in my dreams when it received an anime adaptation, I've always dreamed of making my own animatic to it!!

Not just the chorus, but the ENTIRE SONG (pleeeease go take a look at the lyrics) feels like it's made for the manga please please go take a look

2. MYTH & ROID - -to the future days

I cast my wishes to the future days If we can meet on the other side of eternity… I cast my wishes to the future days What should we talk about first? Sadness and even joy will, eventually Will sleep together That's the way life is If such a world could be granted Would nobody feel hurt anymore?

Yeah I like M&R quite a bit, how'd you know

If T:E was the hypothetical OP, this is my pick for the ED theme, like AAAAAAAA for me it encompasses the yu's story so so so so so so so well, though

And:

Both despair and also life come to end eventually Take this future into your hands and let it run its course Spin it ’round…… The hands on the clock spin around Like flowers, petals falling and fluttering Once we blossom, we dissipate in the moment THE BRIDGE THE BRIDGE THE LYRICS ARGHHHHHHHH This is definitely for me, the moment when the three yus start to fade during Yuya's battle with Eve, their last conversation they have with yuya..... *lies onto the ground in a pile of misery*

Rest of the lyrics HERE shoves it into your face

3. MAISONdes - Tokyo Shandy Rendezvous

It's no joke, no it's not! Tokyo Shandy Rendezvous Even when the time comes nothing will come of it Vague truths only become melancholy Come on and snatch me away now, take on me!

This is a fun one, when I watched the PV and in the chorus Lum was spinning I instantly went wow what if that was Phantom.. and then the lyrics bared their claws and sunk them into my brain and hasn't really let go since

Unlike the above two songs, not all of the lyrics are a perfect match, of course, but I adore how in general the whimsical yet lonely nature of the song feels like it fits Phantom so well!

4. Eve - Fight Song

As the night still refuses to end, let’s dream

Last but not least the song I posted the above storyboard for! CSM fans (as well as Eve fans, lol) are probably already familiar with the song, and full lyrics here, though like the song above, only parts of the song (particularly the chorus) really resonated with the vj brainworms in my head lol Even for me, y’know Let’s make a break for the future Towards the verge of death like we pray for A boy that gave his word Today, just like back then As if there’s no more future ahead

Sigh.... Yuto, Yugo, Yuri................ Just let out your voice Let’s take it easy We don’t even know common sense, so we know the world through wise eyes These overflowing feelings, behold Greet me with an applause

I love the first half a lot, I can easily imagine Yuya saying it to the other three... and of course, the latter, from him to the world! (or perhaps even G.O.D...)

As always thanks for reading GOODBYE I GOTTA GO DRAW SOME ARC-V OCS

#arc-v #arcvmonth2023 #arcvmonth #arc-v manga #pasu does not shut up

44 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

Time, Curious Time

And isn't it so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me

Summary: Briar just barely survived the war with Hybern and his terrible camp. All she wants is a little peace…especially from her dreams. Nightmares plague her, urging her to return to the place that tormented her.

What lies beyond that woodland threatens to reshape Prythian and Briar?

Well, she's right in the middle of it

for @ladynestas (who also made the moodboard)

Read on AO3

She still had nightmares.

More often than Briar could count, she woke coated in sweat. She didn’t know why her mind forced her to relive the days spent in the Faerie camp. No amount of safety would ever convince her body, her mind. Briar ought to have been right back to that spinning wheel, utterly naked for the amusement of the males. She could feel their hands, their teeth, their blades, always plucking, biting, pinching.

She still wore the scars, hidden beneath her dresses. She’d said nothing to her parents after Viviane returned her to the now ruined wall. They’d made her swear her days as a member of the Children of the Blessed were over.

It was an easy promise to make, harder to keep. There had been stories, when she was a girl, that to drink faerie food or drink faerie wine bound you to their land. She knew that king was dead and yet a tugging in her gut was always pulling her back. Briar had done a good job ignoring it over the last year but tonight it was too much.

She pushed the blanket from her bed. It was cold out, the last vestiges of winter clinging to the windowpane with clawed fingers. The promise of dawn lit over the sky, casting purple shadows as Briar dressed, sliding fur lined boots over warm, woolen socks. Her parents would be furious with her, though that was hardly new.

They wanted her to get married. Phillip. He wanted her to get married too. Sometimes even Briar herself wanted that. He didn’t know what happened in Prythian. Didn’t see how she was haunted. What would he do when he unlaced her wedding dress to find the knife marks? The whipping scars? The burns forever etched into her skin? Proof someone else had been there first, that many people had. He wouldn’t understand it wasn’t necessarily, sexual. He would assume it all the same and human men were far too willing to believe the worst of women associated with the fae.

Briar braided her silky, dark hair from her face, cursing the beauty staring back at her from the mirror.

Her friends had been killed on sight. She’d been preserved because one of the fae took a liking to her face. The king of Hybern doubly so. It would have been far kinder to execute her on sight, she thought. Brian rubbed the heel of her hands against dark brown eyes, wishing the fae had marred that, too.

Maybe Phillip wouldn’t be so interested, then.

Pulling a hunter green cloak over her head, Briar stepped out of the cottage that had once been home. She’d dreamed of leaving this village behind, of finding love and beauty and something more beyond the wall. She’d found a nightmare, one Briar could not wake up from. She was cursed, trapped in that enchanted sleep.

There was no waking and whatever was calling her back would certainly only damn her further. If Briar had been smart, she would have turned back, crawled back into bed, and stayed there. As Briar trudged through snow with only a small knife–gifted from the fae princess Viviane—she considered that her curiosity had always been her problem. She wasn’t content to leave well enough alone.

It was what kept her moving. Briar had considered that she was walking straight back to her doom. She wasn’t afraid, not this time. The worst had already happened, right? Maybe it tempted fate to assume that but Briar almost hoped something was waiting for her with glistening teeth and an open maw.

The forest was endless and massive and by the time the sun was fully up, Briar realized what a terrible idea the entire thing was. She’d brought no food, had no thought as to where she was going. Her body was half dragged, propelled on, on, on. She knew what it was.

Magic.

She’d smelled it before—coppery and metallic, like blood but worse. The wall was gone, reduced to ash and yet Briar had thought she’d see the wreckage. When Viviane had brought her home, rock and rubble lay ruined along the ground, creating division.

It had all been cleaned, removed by some unknown hand.

She forced herself to keep going. It was too late now to turn back no matter how she might like to. Her heart fluttered in her chest, smashing up against her ribcage until she was panting with the effort it took to keep air in her lungs. Whatever corded around her now yanked, causing her to stumble and trip. More than once, Briar fell to the cool ground, cognizant that the snow had melted into the crisp afternoon of spring.

She remembered the High Lord of this place—not by name, but face. He appeared in her dreams as often as the rest of them did. The monster who’d come at the last minute, who’d fought those vicious dogs she’d been certain would kill them all. His face should have been the worst given how beastly it was. Furred and horned, with vicious fangs and a body as large as a moose.

She would have taken one hundred monsters like that over the beauty of Hybern’s soldiers.

The ripping in her body ended abruptly before a tree. Spiked and vicious and so utterly out of place with the tall oaks that swayed around her. This tree was something else—old and ancient and utterly magic. She almost laughed out loud.

“This?!” she called out to the world, looking skyward at the cerulean blue peeking through treetops. “All this effort for this?!”

Briar reached her fingers through the thorny branches for one of the golden pieces of fruit. Maybe the magic was offering her a way out. A reprieve from the hellish nightmare she’d been trapped in. The fruit was squishy and not firm like it appeared. Slimy, even, as if it were rotten. Briar ripped her hand back, pricking her hand in the process

The world seemed to tilt and three drops of blood rolled down her wrist, dripping to the earth.

Briar.

The wind wrapped around her throat.

Welcome home.

She let it take her.

~*~

Tamlin had been living in the forest for too long. Three years since the war, surfacing only when the insufferable Night Court came to pay him a visit. Lucien was the usual suspect but sometimes it was Rhysand. Lucien wanted things to go back as they were and Rhysand?

Tamlin understood the High Lord of Night merely wanted to know if he was alive or not. Perhaps he meant to fight Beron for the remainder of Tamlin’s land when the world finally took him. He’d felt it, that pull, that aching tug. Dragging him towards the wall, towards the place the Cauldron had sat before it pulled that ancient magic apart. Tamlin refused.

Usually, anyway.

Not today. He could sense Rhysand prowling about, nosy as always. He’d drag Tamlin back and pretend he cared while digging through Tamlin’s mind. It was all so tedious. Exhausting. He simply lacked the energy to watch Rhysand preen about, hero in his own mind. He’d vanquished the terrible evil that tried to take his mate.

Wasn’t that enough?

Apparently not. Tamlin knew Rhysand wouldn’t truly be satisfied until he was dead. Maybe he deserved that for what he’d done to Rhysand’s mother and sister. Maybe that was a fitting punishment for giving in to his father, to his brothers. Tamlin had made peace that made blood demanded blood and though his own mother had paid for his mistake, perhaps the world wouldn’t be right until he was dead too.

He plodded forward, nails digging in the ground. Some days were better than others. Some days he could take on the shape of the male, could bathe and dress and clean up the estate and turn his attention to the land.

Other days he couldn’t bring himself to eat, let alone walk on two feet. Today was one of those days. Tamlin pushed deeper in the woods, wondering if this was the route Andras had once taken. So much death was piled around him, their bodies scattered like ashes. What had it been for? What had he accomplished?

It was all for nothing.

Nose practically dragging against the leaf strewn ground, Tamlin didn’t notice the tangled thicket of thorns and brambles that stretched like a wall in both directions. He reared back, slashing his nose against the sharpness, dragging three drops of blood against the ground. Around him, the air hummed with approval and that ancient, whispering voice murmured a greeting.

Welcome home, High Lord.

He snuffed in response, stamping his foot impatiently. These were still his woods. The Mother, ancient and wise as she was, had no right to interfere this way. Another metaphor, he nearly asked. He simply lacked the energy.

A soft, whispering laugh made every hair on his body stand on edge. He disliked the way the gods still played their little games, no longer content to watch from above. Using the Cauldron had awoken something primordial and Tamlin was certain he wasn’t the only creature that felt it.

The vines retreated into the earth, filling his body with the sensation of life reborn filling his chest. He’d forgotten, if only for a moment, how the magic of Spring truly felt. He was more than just the vicious beast.

Tamlin hesitated when the last of the vines vanished, revealing a tree that certainly did not belong. Stepping forward, he snuffed at it, snarling at the violent tang of magic. He’d wondered what would happen when Daglan and Brannagah had set the Cauldron on his land. What might rise up when they spilled it to the ground? The tree was rotting and yet somehow brimming with life.

Tamlin sighed. He’d be forced to tell the other High Lords who would be rightly furious. Tamlin took another careful step, his clawed foot colliding with something soft beneath a layer of fallen leaves and other debris he’d mistaken for the ground itself. Sighing, he lowered his snout, certain’d find more rotting carcasses from the unfortunate creatures that dared to try and eat from the tree.

The scent clanged through his body like a bell, rippling through his blood like a brand. He didn’t realize he was digging against the earth, trying to find the source of this new thing. He shifted without meaning to, utterly naked, to reach for the female laying in that soil filled grave. He recognized her face though her name eluded him.

She’d been the human in Hyberns camp. He still thought of her from time to time, wondering what had become of the human who’d survived the camp. He supposed now he knew—she’d come back, had eaten from the tree.

Cursed, was his first thought as he gently pried her from the earth's loving grip. How long had she been there? She had a distinctly immortal glow to her, though the arching ears tipped through her brown black hair was a dead giveaway.

Lowering his ear to her breast, Tamlin could hear her steady, soft heartbeat. Alive but only just. Enchanted sleep was rare, not because the spell was difficult but because the curse was easily broken. True loves kiss, according to the ancient grimoire but in truth, the fae had learned any kiss would do.

Maybe not a naked male, he decided wryly. He’d take her back to the estate, break the spell, and send her on her way. She could stay the night but after that Tamlin wanted her gone—out of his estate, off his lands and ideally, out of his mind, too.

He took his time on the trip back, sensing Rhysand’s departure mere moments before he emerged from the woods. It took no great effort to winnow directly into the estate itself given he hadn’t used his magic for anything significant in years and his wards were no longer maintained. Lucien occasionally came by and threw one up and Tamlin always pulled it down the minute the Autumn court male—Night court, now—vanished.

Rhysand’s scent lingered in the dim halls, taunting Tamlin all the same.

Look what’s become of you.

Pathetic.

Tamlin knew all too well.

He took the female up the stairs to the one bedroom still in good condition—his own. She could have it, at least for now. Tamlin had no intention of sleeping here. He set her among the white and gold duvet without a second look. He had to dig through his things for a pair of pants, a shirt, and tunic. Good enough, he thought, sweeping his long, blonde hair off his face. He doubted he looked less mannerly but clothed and semi-groomed was far better than letting her wake to a naked male hovering over her.

Tamlin hesitated at the edge of the mattress, eyes locked on full, pink lips. She truly was lovely. He hadn’t thought so when he rescued her, had been too busy to care for such things but now? He understood why Hybern had chosen to torture her. All faeries coveted lovely things and given the reputation of humans for being dull, ugly creatures, this female was a gem among rocks.

Blowing out a breath, Tamlin leaned forward and brushed his lips across her own. She was warm, practically asleep for all he could tell. He stepped back and waited, fascinated at the rippling gold and green shimmering off her. How long had she been down there for? It took her a moment to shake it off, to inhale sharply. Long lashed fluttered, revealing the warmed set of brown eyes set in her heart shaped, moon-pale face. She blinked, brows pulling into a frown.

She turned her head to look at him, detonating a vicious, ripping explosion in his chest. Tamlin choked, stumbling back a good four steps before he regained his balance.

The reverberating snap in his chest was an answer to the question he’d been asking ever since he’d met Feyre.

Mate, that laughing voice murmured against his cheek.

She was staring at him too. Tamlin came towards her, halting when she scrambled away, her whole body trembling violently. “Where am I?” she asked him, fingers curling in the blanket. How did he explain when the walls were covered in curling ivy and the windows were shattered husks? Ruined floors from years of rain water and sunlight weren’t any more inviting. Only the bed was intact given he still slept in it on occasion.

He could fix this.

“Spring Court,” he said, speaking for the first time in months. His voice was hoarse, a terrifying grunting even to his own ears. “You’re safe.”

“Safe,” she whispered, looking away from him with hollow eyes. “Safe in Prythian.”

He nodded. “I…” Gods, he didn’t know what to say. “My name is Tamlin.”

She looked back at him, recognizing that, at least. “The monster?”

He cringed.

“The monster,” he agreed, swallowing hard. Her shoulders relaxed, filling Tamlin with the strangest mixture of hope and fear.

“Will you take me home?” she asked him.

He hesitated. This was his mate, after all. Returning her back to the humans was risky. They were likely to kill her.

“Home?”

“I live in the village beyond the wall,” she said earnestly, scooting closer. Pretty eyes, he thought. The same as lightning churned earth, of rough bark branching into green treetops against a clear blue sky.

“For how long?” he asked her. Maybe the humans were softening, were willing to tolerate her because she’d been one of them.

She frowned. “My whole life. My parents, they’ll…” she bit her bottom lip.

They’d be worried. Tamlin’s whole body rebelled at the notion and yet to force her to stay was merely replicating all his past mistakes. He nodded and the female stood. He needed, at least, to know her name.

“What do they call you?” he asked her softly. She passed by a mirror, turning her head to look.

“Briar,” she whispered, halting in front of the cracked surface. Her hair was unbound, falling in soft ringlets down her back, her eyes dark and wide and utterly lovely. Her lips parted and, with trembling fingers, she reached for those delicate, arched ears.

“I…” she trailed off. “Is this a trick?”

He didn’t know what to make of that. “A trick?”

She looked at him with such anguish though Tamlin didn’t understand the cause of it. Gesturing down her body, Briar said, “My body.”

He didn’t dare comment on that, though he couldn’t pretend he didn’t appreciate it. Tamlin merely shook his head back and forth.

“I went into the woods human!” she said, a tear sliding down her face. Tamlin truly studied her in that moment, drinking in her fur lined cape and her waterproof boots. At best she’d been in the woods for almost a year. At worst…he cleared his throat.

“Did you eat from the tree?”

She shook her head back and forth. “It was rotting.”

Tamlin closed his eyes, thinking of the offering he’d made in order to gain entrance to the thicket itself. What a cruel joke, offering up his blood without knowing what was waiting. He’d thought, foolishly, it was merely to signify he was High Lord.

Like called to like.

“Did you spill blood?”

She looked down at her unblemished hand and without hearing her answer, Tamlin knew the answer was yes.

“Take me back–”

“They’ll kill you–”

“Take me back!” she sobbed, sinking to the ground. He caught her before she crashed, lowering her gently. “Please. Please take me back.”

Tamlin resisted the urge to run his nose along the back of her ear, to inhale the soft scent of hyacinth and honey clinging against her skin. This was close enough, gripping her slim arms while she trembled mere inches away.

“Winter was nine months ago,” he whispered, earning another strangled sob.

“They need to know I’m not dead,” she said, turning those beautiful, tear soaked eyes on him. He would have done anything in that moment to see her happy. Without considering what kind of male he was or even if she even wanted a mate, Tamlin nodded his head.

“You won’t be able to stay,” he warned her. She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“Where will I go?”

“Here,” he said, his own voice breaking at the thought.

Their eyes met again and he prayed that she’d feel that snap, too.

Nothing.

“Take me home.”

BRIAR:

Tamlin was terrifying to look at. He’d clearly seen better days if his rough shaven face and the smudging purple bruising beneath his eyes were any indication. He spoke very little as he walked her across the overrun grounds. Everywhere he went the world seemed to right itself a little. The grass shrank, the vines retreated. Floors reknit themselves, the glass repairing. If he put any effort into this strange clean up effort, Briar genuinely could not tell. His face was utterly impassive.

She was tempted to ask how it became this way. It looked as if a war had ripped through the land. He’d said she could stay, but Briar didn’t think she wanted to.

When they reached the edge of the forest, the man beside her offered her a calloused, broad hand. “We’ll winnow,” he murmured. “So you don’t have to stay the night in the woods.” Brian sucked in a breath. Viviane had done this, too. She nodded, sliding her hand against his own while bracing herself for the crushing wind and the darkness that accompanied that shift through time. Viviane had explained it to be like stepping through the world and Briar supposed it was.

Tamlin’s magic was warmer, softer than the princess of winter. Maybe Viviane would let Briar return, seek refuge in her icy palace. Briar hated the cold and yet a friendly face felt like a gift in the midst of her panicking uncertainty.

Tamlin squeezed her hand as they reappeared just inside the treeline where no one would see. Nervously, Briar unbraided the rest of her hair, carefully arranging it against her ears while Tamlin pretended he wasn’t watching. Forest green eyes surveyed their surroundings with a mix of interest and disdain.

“They all look the same,” he murmured, catching her watching him. “Nothing changes.”

She didn’t agree. It looked to her as if everything had changed. Roads, once little more than dirt, had been repaved with concrete. Houses had been remade with nice brick and stone. It was autumn now, evidenced by falling leaves and little candles and pumpkins on the front porch, carved with scary faces in hopes they would ward off trickster spirits. Tamlin had been right—she’d been gone nine months.

“I’m coming with you,” he said when she didn’t respond. He straightened out his spine, standing his full height. She felt small beside him, the top of her head coming to the swell of his shoulder.

“You’ll scare them,” she whispered. He glanced at her again, lips pressed into a thin line. She knew what he was thinking and was grateful when he didn’t say it.

She’d scare them, too.

That was evidenced when she stepped onto the road. No amount of clever hair could hide what she was now. The once bustling streets died as the people she’d once known scrambled out of her way. Men held swords though they didn’t dare point them. She supposed she ought to thank Tamlin for that. His broad, muscular frame was a threat all on its own. Any man untrained in the art of battle might think twice before going up against the faerie.

Her parents' home had not been spared the remodel of the village. It had always been nice—her father was a blacksmith and their life, while small, had been comfortable. Two stories, three bedrooms and running water had always been a feature of Briar’s life. Everything looked nicer, she thought. The door had been replaced and repainted navy. Yellow shutters hung cheerfully against clear windows and a plot of marigolds lined the path from the street to the door.

Briar knocked, pretending Tamlin wasn’t standing at the edge of the yard watching. Would he let her go inside?

The door opened and too late, Briar realized it had been more than nine months since she left. Her father’s face was aged and lined. His once dark hair was silvered at the edges and his whole body seemed to sag. He halted at the sight of her, sighing heavily.

“Two years, Briar,” he said by way of greeting. That stunned her.

“I…two years?”

“Just like before,” he added, his gaze hard. “You’re missing from your bed. We searched the woods for you, but I knew. You went back and now look at you.”

His eyes found Tamlin just behind her.

“She’s your problem now. I don’t want to ever see her again.”

“Where is mother—”

“Dead.” His voice was hard, unforgiving. “You sent her to an early grave. She was so sure you were hurt. Begged me to keep looking long after it was clear you crossed the wall. How disappointed she’d be, to see you like this.”

Tamlin snarled softly behind her. Briar wiped the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

It wasn’t my fault, she wanted to add as he slammed that door in her face. “Where is she buried!” she screamed at the wood, lunging forward and slamming her palm against the solid mass.

“Tell me where she’s buried!”

The door groaned and cracked at the force of her hand. Briar didn’t care. She’d break it down, destroy the whole thing.

“Tell me—”

Hands on her shoulders pulled her backwards. “Briar,” Tamlins voice whispered. She yanked, even as that crushing warmth swept around her. He deposited her on the lawn just in time for Briar to swing, catching him upside his chiseled jaw. He stumbled backwards, caught off guard, and Briar, horrified she’d hit him, pressed her palm against her mouth.

“It’s fine,” he told her. It wasn’t, though. Shaking her head, Briar meant to apologize but the words came out as an anguished scream. He caught her again, arm sliding around her middle so she didn’t face plant into the ground.

“Two years,” she sobbed as the two gently tumbled to the ground. “I was gone for two years.”

He released her, sitting close enough she could feel his warmth while she sobbed viciously into her hands. Briar dug her fingers into the earth, furious Prythain had played this little trick on her. Hadn’t she been through enough? Hadn’t her body suffered enough?

All her hatred, her anger and pain and anguish seemed to slide like viscous liquid, tangible to her somehow. The world itself drank it down like an elixir…and then pushed something back. A daisy. White and bright and swaying in the breeze. Another popped from the ground, and then another, until there was a blanket of them stretched between her and Tamlin.

“I want to go to winter,” she said breathlessly, knowing full well he was going to tell her no. Already, Tamlin, his eyes round and wide, was shaking his head. He merely sighed, skimming his hands over the delicate petals with obvious wonder. Briar had stopped crying, at least. Small mercies, she supposed, wiping her face on her shoulder .

“This is all Spring,” he told her, those grassy colored eyes finding hers.

“I didn’t ask for it,” she replied softly. Tamlin nodded, biting his bottom lip.

“No, but…we haven’t had magic like this in centuries. It was bred out of my family line in favor of strength.”

She yanked her fingers out of the dirt and dropped them in her lap. “I suppose the world has a sense of humor, then.”

“You could say that again,” Tamlim mumbled.

“I know Viviane,” Briar tried again. “She was nice, I…”

He sighed, all his wonder shifting into some new emotion she didn’t recognize. “I’ll write to her. Will you come back with me in the meantime?”

“What happened?” she asked, pushing off the ground to rise to her feet. His expression tightened, that same, unreadable look still ghosting his face. Tamlin merely shrugged his shoulders.

“Too much to say.”

She didn’t understand it.

But Briar knew exactly what he meant.

TAMLIN:

She asked to keep the room she’d woken in. Who was Tamlin to tell her no? Could he have mentioned it just so happened to be his bed? Sure. Did he? Absolutely not. It was, perhaps, selfish and yet Tamlin rather liked the thought of his mate in his bed. It was certainly the nicest chamber in the entire estate, at any rate, and after her ordeal, Tamlin thought Briar deserved it.

There were other, more pressing problems outside of his mate lying beneath his sheets though everything seemed to go back to that. The estate was ruined, the grounds in disarray. Autumn was pushing on his border, his people were scattered and impoverished and Tamlin had no idea where to start. He had no friends he could call on anymore, no support or allies. Just a terrified mate—asleep in his bed—and himself.

Grinding his teeth, Tamlin was forced to make a choice.

Fucking Lucien Vanserra.

Writing his once best friend felt like being kicked in the face repeatedly. Lucien, the traitor. Lucien, who’d hung him out to dry and joined Rhysand. Lucien, who’d taken Feyre’s side on everything despite the centuries of friendship between them. Lucien, who had abandoned him to lick Rhysands boots all so he might one day be allowed to speak to the female Tamlin heard was kept far, far away from him.

Did he prefer it, Tamlin wondered? Did it feel like freedom to his old friend? They’d once rode all over the countryside, had dreamed of a better way of running things. They’d tried, briefly, before Amarantha, even. What had Rhysand done, other than reinforce the same tired system that kept too many broken and impoverished?

Tamlin did it anyway, knowing Lucien would tell Rhysand he was requesting help. That anything Lucien learned here would be handed over to the Night Court for their perusal. And that Rhysand would eventually come, playacting as High King, to see if he approved of Tamlin’s attempts to rebuild.

The letter vanished with a whisper, leaving Tamlin to sit in the ruined study. It was easy to blame everything on Rhysand—and he did, for a lot of it. Rhysand was determined to punish Tamlin for the rest of his life for that mistake. The problem, at least in Tamlin’s estimation, was how much better Rhysand had always been at playing politics. Tamlin have been particularly eloquent or well versed in being a courtier. That had always been Lucien’s job, perhaps to Tamlin’s detriment. When it all fell apart, he didn’t know where to start.

Didn’t want to even try.

He wasn’t supposed to be High Lord. It had been drilled in his head his whole life. His brothers had been courtly and Tamlin had been the warrior, for all the good it did him. Everyone was dead or gone and he was what was left. His father was likely spinning in his grave.

Tamlin fell asleep in his chair and woke to the sound of boots echoing on the marble in the foyer. He heard a familiar sigh and then felt the shimmering wards sliding over the estate again.

Lucien.

He wiped his palms on his trousers, swallowing the mix of hatred and nerves mixing in his chest. Their relationship was fraught now, tangled in the emotions of people who had once known everything about each other that no longer cared. Only, Tamlin did care. Not caring about Lucien would have made hating him all the easier.

Tamlin met him in the hall. Lucien looked well enough—dressed as he always had been in his fine clothes, not a hair out of place—and yet exhausted and worn down at the same time. Their eyes met, the tension between them so taut Tamlin could have played it like a fiddle.

“I got your letter,” Lucien said, breaking the silence between them. He pressed his lips in a thin line, clearly irritated that Tamlin hadn’t said something first.

“You came faster than I thought,” Tamlin replied, still getting used to the sound of his own voice. Lucien considered that. Tamlin could see the gears grinding in his old friend's head.

“I came straight here,” Lucien said, letting Tamlin fill in the gaps.

I didn’t tell anyone I was coming.

I’ve decided to see for myself before asking permission

I want to give Rhysand and his court a full update when I return

Tamlin clenched his jaw. “How fortunate for me your schedule allowed it.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched, as though he might smile at Tamlin’s irritation. Lucien looked around, drinking in the little repairs Tamlin’s magic had made. He could fix the whole estate if he wanted—though if he fell apart again, the estate would crumble in the wake of the lost magic. He wanted Briar to have somewhere safe to live even if he wasn’t in it.

He couldn’t tell Lucien that. In fact, Tamlin didn’t think he wanted Lucien to know about her at all.

“So,” Lucien, smug and stupid all at once, turned his gaze back to Tamlin. “You wanted my help?”

Ask for my help.

He swallowed all his pride. “Rebuilding my court.”

Lucien’s surprise skittered over his face for only a moment before his friend hid that and any other emotion he felt. And Tamlin, irritated and embarrassed, added, “Not you, of course. I know how important it is to remain emissary to the Night Court.” Lucien scoffed. “Half your court defected to Autumn and has been feeding their High Lord information for months?”

“And the rest?”

Lucien shrugged. “Holed up in their own estates playing lord. Taxing the populace far beyond their means, staging their own Calanmai rituals…at least one of them will likely try and stage a coup when they realize you plan to actually return?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

“So is that it, then? Spring is just lost?”

Lucien’s face was impassive. “You were the warlord, not me. I can go around and make my little threats but perhaps, first, you might stroll to the summer border and see what your former soldiers are up to.”

Gods damn him, Tamlin was certain he didn’t want to know. He was going to have to go on an apology tour around Prythian, apologizing to the High Lords.

“That will take weeks,” Tamlin grumbled, thinking of his mate still in his bed. Lucien raised a brow.

“Do you have something better to do?”

“I need someone I can trust to watch the estate while I’m gone,” Tamlin said in response. His meaning was clear.

Not you.

Lucien ran a hand down his mouth. “I have a thought–”

“No one from Night Court,” Tamlin interrupted flatly. Lucien was undeterred.

“Elain Archeron–”

“Absolutely not,” Tamlin growled. He didn’t want another fucking Archeron sister stepping foot in Spring. He couldn’t tolerate another female with Feyre’s features giving him a hard time. He’d saved Feyre’s mates life. When would it be enough?

“She’s not like Feyre,” Lucien murmured softly. “And she’s a gardener.”

“She’s an Archeron.”

Tamlin understood Lucien’s desire to bring Elain to Spring. Get his mate out of Night under the guise of rebuilding and unity. Tamlin and Lucien were at an impasse and Tamlin, distrustful and angry, made an impulsive decision Lucien would have once berated him for.

“Come back and you can bring her.”

Lucien stared.

“Excuse me?”

Tamlin forced himself to hold Lucien’s stare. “Come back to Spring and you can bring your Archeron mate.”

Lucien’s anger was too much to hide. He strode forward and without warning, slammed his fist in Tamlin’s stomach. Tamlin doubled over, taken aback by both the action itself and the force with which Lucien had hit him.

“You fucked me over with Hybern,” Lucien snarled. “You fucked over all of Spring. Why wouldn’t you tell me? We were friends. I would have helped you, you dumb motherfucker.”

“I know,” Tamlin wheezed. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien shook his head. “If you think I’ve been having fun over there, I hate you even more than before. You could have told me and I would have stopped Feyre. You chose to trust Ianthe, Tam.

At least Rhysand doesn’t pretend to be my friend when he’s fucking me over.”

Tamlin stood again, still panting against the assault. Nothing Lucien said was untrue and yet— “You left with her.”

Lucien’s face slackened for a moment. “My loyalty is to my mate.”

“Yeah? How’s that working out?”

Lucien clenched his fists but didn’t dare come any closer. Hitting Tamlin once was a matter between old friends and once brothers. Hitting him twice invited letting the High Lord exact justice.

Lucien couldn’t withstand that kind of onslaught.

“Fuck you, Tam,” Lucien snapped.

“No go say that to Rhysand,” Tamlin taunted, having clearly touched a nerve. This was how they solved arguments in the past. Before Amarantha, before the mountain, when the stressors between them were smaller and more manageable. An ocean lay between them now, unnavigable and still Tamlin, ever stupid, wanted to try. “Go hit Rhysand in the gut.”

“I never said he was my friend—”

“Then why is he your fucking High Lord?” Tamlin snapped.

“He has my mate!” Lucien snarled furiously, unleashing his rage. Chest heaving, Tamlin watched all Lucien’s careful restraint snap against that rising tide of fury.

“Invite her,” Tamlin said dismissively.

“If you think either of them will allow Elain into this court—”

“Is she a prisoner, then?” Tamlin asked, referring back to a very old conversation he and Lucien had regarding Feyre. High Lords couldn’t just kidnap females that had no ties to them. Especially another males mate. Tamlin had once thought Feyre to be that very thing, though there was no snapping bond between them.

Lucien’s rage smoothed back into that unnerving nothingness. Tamlin hated how easily he managed that.

“Stealing her from her family will hardly engender any good will.”

Tamlin didn’t bother mentioning it was working perfectly well for him. His mate was in his bed. “Of course. I’m sure your way is better. Let me know what you decide.”

Lucien hesitated as Tamlin turned. He took a half-step, stopping Tamlin in his tracks. “I want to come back,” Lucien admitted softly. “I just…”

“I know,” Tamlin replied. It didn’t make him any less resentful, but he knew what kept Lucien all the same.”

“I’ll be back with an answer,” Lucien said, sweeping one last look around. “I’ll meet you at the border.”

Tamlin huffed a sigh. Briar would be fine.

Briar was in his bed.

He turned abruptly, leaving his former friend still standing in the foyer.

He wanted to see his mate.

In his bed.

BRIAR:

Briar woke to the High Lord offering breakfast. She knew, from years of experience, that acts of kindness didn’t come without strings.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking in the strange state of him. He looked as if he needed a good bath, sleep, and a new tailor. She wasn’t sure if she could just tell him to go wash his hair—if she’d told the lord of the village his hair looked stringy, he’d have her flogged.

Tamlin ducked his head appreciatively at her thanks. Breakfast, like everything in Spring, was spartan and yet eggs and toast and juice were all perfectly good in comparison to enchanted sleep.

Besides, while she waited on Viviane, maybe she could try her hands at growing. She’d never tried before, though.

She’d never had magic before.

“I am going to be at the border this evening,” he told her by way of greeting, standing at the very edge of the bed. “I uh…do you want to come?”

“And do what?” she asked. He winced. Nothing fun, then.

“I need to rally some of my former soldiers.”

Oh. “Can I stay?” Briar was perfectly content to be alone. She was used to it, besides. Her parents hadn’t paid her a ton of attention growing up which was how Briar had ended up with the Children of the Blessed to begin with. She’d wanted anyone to look at her longer than a few minutes.

To love her.

Not that she needed the faerie before her to know that. He’d think she was desperate and pathetic if he didn’t already, given how often she broke down sobbing in front of him. Not today, she vowed. Today she would make herself useful, would show him that it hadn’t been a mistake rescuing her from that curse and that as long as she was in his court, she could both be of use to him and not embarrass him.

“Stay?” he asked, as if he couldn’t make sense of the word. Briar nodded, dropping her fork to the tray to come closer.

“I could try my hand at gardening, if you don’t have one—”

“You want a garden?” he breathed, his eyes glazing over. Briar blinked.

“Are you alright? Did you sleep well?”

He nodded, though it seemed to be dawning on him that he was filthy. He glanced down at his clothes before examining his skin. “I could…I should bathe.”

“Okay. So we have a plan. I’ll stay and you’ll take a bath, take a nap, and—”

“The only working tub is in this room,” he informed her. Briar, still sitting on the bed, hadn’t bothered to ask whose room she was actually in. Now, though, she looked at the massive chamber and wondered why she hadn’t guessed. It was masculine enough, despite the cream and gold sheets. She ought to have guessed when she found multiple daggers hidden under the mountain of pillows, that the High Lord was sleeping there.

“Oh. Of course. I apolog—”

“No need,” he headed her off with a wave of his hand. “I will bathe and then we can discuss remaining behind.”

Briar nodded, practically tripping over the edge of a sage colored rug on her way out. The High Lord had given her his bedroom. She didn’t know what to make of that and so Briar, like she did so many other things, merely stuffed it deep down. Still, there was something fascinating about the knowledge that the thing she’d always wanted the most—living among the fae as one of them—was literally playing out before her very eyes. Had she met him prior to the war, Briar thought she’d be more excited, more thrilled to be around him.

Hybern had taught her that the fae were just like humans with their taste for cruelty and far more powerful and sadistic than the humans could ever dream to be. This man–male, she reminded herself. She used to be so good at speaking like they did. This male wasn’t a regular faerie but a High Lord. If he thought it might amuse him, he could tie her to a wall, too. He could torture her, too.

What could she do about it?

Heal, she thought happily as she stepped into the early morning sunlight. A cheerful breeze ruffled her hair, practically pushing her over the grounds. They looked better than the day before but only marginally. Anything was an improvement, she supposed. Even the estate seemed a little better, though whatever had destroyed it was hardly undone.

And just to the west of the estate, ruined and ugly, was the biggest garden Briar had ever seen. Clearly, better days had once been had here. She could relate to that. She, too, had seem better days. The High Lord, too, if she had to guess. Maybe this whole place was made of broken people just trying to piece themselves back together.

The thought offered her a small measure of peace, if nothing else. Her chest still ached from the knowledge her mother had gone to the grave worried about her and her father blamed her. Her father never had loved much. He’d always loved her mother, though.

Briar dropped to the cracked, dry ground, likely ruining the pretty lavender dress she’d pilfered. She’d take care when she washed it later but if it always had dirt stains, well…who expected her to look like a great lady in this place? Besides, Briar thought she could be forgiven as she’d only just become faerie and wanted to see how the magic worked.

Weeds were the predominant greenery in the garden. She could see, from the crumbling stone path, that there had once been a hedged path that centered around a now defunct fountain. A half-cracked bench beneath a rather sad looking oak tree made everything feel a little more pathetic.

She cracked a nail sliding it into the earth. She could feel, just like before, everything wiggling and moving. Life, as it was, shifting and churning, poking through the rough, unwatered soil as it shoved something with softer roots out of the way. Grass gripping the ground, swaying merrily as it soaked up sun and little earth words inching their way towards her fingers without even knowing she was there.

It would take time to master it entirely. Briar had the sense she could make things bloom if she wanted. Killing things was much easier, a metaphor hardly lost on her. By the time Tamlin rejoined her, freshly bathed and dressed and looking like a High Lord, she had killed a whole patch of weeds by coaxing them back into the ground.

He hadn’t come alone. Briar barely had time to admire just how handsome Tamlin was in his fitted green tunic and his nice, black pants that fit perfectly against his muscular legs. Another male had joined him, just as handsome as Tamlin despite his scarred face and missing eye.

“Tam,” he breathed as she stood up, his nostrils flaring. Tamlin held out his hand, silencing his friend.

“Briar, this is Lucien. He’s going to stay for the day while I’m gone.”

Her eyes flicked back to Lucien. Tamlin was dressed well but Lucien was well-dressed. It wasn’t just his well-fitting clothes but they specific colors he’d chosen—silver and blue and white—and the way in which he’d draped them over his form. He chuckled when she realized she’d been staring just a moment too long.

Cheeks flushing, Briars eyes dropped back to the ground. “Just for the day.”

“Just the day,” Tamlin agreed, his voice more grumble than anything.

“We’ll have a nice time,” Lucien added with his rich, deep voice. “I heard you were human once. I happen to know a little about that.”

Hope bounced around her chest like a ball. “Really?”

“Not a lot. And Tam knows more, I’m sure,” he replied, both gold and russet eye sliding towards his friend. Tamlin was utterly rigid beside him and despite their easy going words, the tension between them was palpable.

“You’re in good hands,” Tamlin agreed tightly. He was such an unbelievable liar. Still, what else was Briar supposed to say? No? Tamlin turned to leave and she, terrified, darted after him faster than she meant. Grabbing at the corded muscle of his bicep, she stopped him in his tracks.

The scent of whatever soap he wore slammed against her senses. Deeply masculine and yet somehow reminiscent of freshly tilled earth and cut grass set against a moody spring rain.

Salty, too, she thought, wrinkling her nose while Lucien actively laughed behind her. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking and it deeply amused him. Tamlin was too busy staring at her hand on his arm to say anything.

“Is he…he won’t…” she swallowed hard. All at once the laughter stopped. Tamlins gaze pinned her in place, rooting her to the spot.

“No one will harm you here.” He spoke the words like an oath.

She nodded. “I—okay.”

“I swear it,” he added for good measure. And from the look on his face and the sword hanging casually from his hip, Briar believed him. Nodding, Briar dropped the hand he was still watching. Maybe he didn’t like being touched. She should have asked.

Tamlin shot Lucien a pointed look, one Briar didn’t know but understood was a silent warning of some kind. Lucien stepped beside her.

“She’s in good hands. We’ll be old friends by the time you return”

“Keep him away from her,” Tamlin barked before vanishing in a floral scented wind. Briar looked up at Lucien, noting the scowl gracing his easy features. He tucked a windblown strand of red hair behind his ear.

“Who is he?”

“No one of importance. Now,” Lucien added, heading off her argument. “My mate likes to garden. Maybe you could show me just enough to talk to her about it?”

Briar looked up at the golden skinned man looking back so earnestly. “Only if you tell me everything there is to know about Spring Court.”

His face warmed with a wicked smile. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#spring daddy #tamlin x briar #brilin #this is for ladynesta and ladynesta ONLY #HAPPY EARLY BDAY

82 notes · View notes

naivesilver · 1 year

Note

🎲 + I'm not giving you a number. just click the button like you're hitting skip on an ipod shuffle until you see a character that you REALLY wanna make content for. And maybe make a moodboard or a ficlet for them?

WELL YOU SEE MY FRIEND, our amiable spinning wheel of fate declared I should make something for little Cedar Booth, the AU daughter of our most beloved blorbo; however, since she's fairly new compared to the other kids, I didn't really want to pick, so you get a moodboard AND a tiny experimental thing as well. Enjoy...?

Send me 🎲 + a number and I will put ALL my OCs into a randomizer and choose the first OC after the number of randomizations to make something for.

The Rulebook of Being Cedar Booth, Age Almost Six, Storybrooke, Maine

Cedar is her father's favorite child.

Wrong already. Scratch that and start from the top. Paint over it, the way she is so good at doing when she makes a mistake midway through a drawing.

Ahem.

Cedar is her father's only child. That doesn't mean he loves her any less, but saying she's the favorite would be misleading, a lie. There is no one else he could choose.

Cedar's father never planned to have her in the first place. That doesn't mean he loves her any less, either.

Cedar has a father, a grandfather, and several aunts and uncles, because Daddy and Grandpa have lots of friends that care for her even though they're not really family. She doesn't have a mother, but that's okay. She doesn't need one. She's fine the way she is.

Cedar's best friends are Maddie, Raven and Cerise. Raven does have a mum, and Cerise has two, which should balance things out, except Maddie doesn't have one either, just like Cedar. Cedar feels guilty for being a bit happy about this, because Maddie's mum is dead, but sometimes she can't help thinking it all the same. She doesn't like being the odd one out, ever.

Cedar is the odd one out now. That's okay, too. Most of the townspeople are odd, or magic. Cerise and her sister Ramona are werewolves, as is their mama. Daddy was like her once, when he was small. It doesn't matter that she's turning into wood.

Lie.

6. It does matter that she's turning into wood, but Grandpa says that the right people won't care at all, and that means him and Daddy and Jiminy, and her friends and Auntie Emma, so Cedar guesses she's doing well enough. They will figure it out together. Daddy promised they would figure it out together, and Daddy doesn't lie anymore, especially not to her.

7. Cedar's not hurting anywhere.

Lie.

7a. Fine, Cedar's hurting a bit. In the legs. They're stiff and sore when she goes to bed sometimes, even if Daddy sweeps her off her feet and carries her off to her room when it happens, makes a game out of it for her. Cedar loves her father very much for that, and she's being a good girl for his sake, she really is.

8. No, she did not throw mud at Apple Nolan when Apple said something about Cedar's legs. That was Sparrow, Raven's brother. Sparrow likes throwing things and making noise, and he doesn't boss Cedar around ever, only picks on her like he does to his sister.

9. What Apple said doesn't make her a bad person. She's Snow White's daughter, and more importantly, Auntie Emma's sister. She can't be a bad person. She just doesn't notice she's hurting other people sometimes, Maddie said.

10. It's Cedar's own fault that this is happening to her.

Lie.

10a. It's Daddy's fault that this is happening to her, because of what he used to be.

LIE.

10b. It's Grandpa's fault that this is happening to her, for making his son like that in the first place.

lielielielielielie

?. She's lost count. She can't say whose fault it actually is. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be safe. She doesn't want her family to be unsafe because of what she says, even if it's the truth. She shouldn't tell the truth if it hurts someone else, like Apple's words did. She should lie.

Could she lie?

She can still lie, right?

Lie.

#lizardthelizard #ask meme #au: ever after storybrooke #ouat #eah #ever after high #once upon a time #cedar wood #august booth #really does this count as fanfic???????#idk what I was doing tbh #*waves hands vaguely in the air* Stuff✨✨✨

10 notes · View notes

piquedpequod · 1 year

Text

"All the Secrets and No One to Tell." A soundtrack-mix for Jim Prideaux of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.

Listen (YT)

Lyrics/excerpts:

“They were at Oxford together before the war.” “And stablemates in the Circus during and after. The famous Haydon-Prideaux partnership.” 1. Charade - Matt Monro Oh what a hit we made We came on next to closing Best on the bill, lovers until Love left the masquerade

Fate seemed to pull the strings I turned and you were gone While from the darkened wings That music box played on

“'Drop out,’ he said. ‘You’re a lucky man, Jim,’ he kept saying. ‘You’ve been ordered to become a lotus-eater.’ I could forget it. Right? Forget it. Just behave as if it had never happened.” He was shouting. “And that’s what I’ve been doing: obeying orders and forgetting!” 2. Eminence Front – The Who That big wheel spins, the hair thins People forget Forget they're hiding The news slows People forget Their shares crash, hopes are dashed People forget Forget they're hiding

Sometimes he thought of the wound as a memory he couldn’t keep down. He tried his damnedest to patch it over and forget but even his damnedest wasn’t always enough. 3. The Story of a Hero – Dmitri Kabalevsky

He also imagined that, like himself, Jim had had a great attachment that had failed him, and which he longed to replace. But here Bill Roach’s speculation met a dead end: he had no idea how adults loved each other. 4. Loneliness – Sergei Rachmaninov

And hearing Tom Tower strike the evening six he found himself thinking of Bill Haydon and Jim Prideaux, who must have arrived here the year that Smiley went down and were gathered up by the war; and he wondered idly how they must have looked together then, Bill the painter, polemicist, and socialite; Jim the athlete, hanging on his words. In their heyday together in the Circus, he reflected, that distinction had all but evened out… Only at the end, the old polarity asserted itself… 5. High Hopes – Pink Floyd Encumbered forever by desire and ambition There's a hunger still unsatisfied Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon Though down this road we've been so many times

The grass was greener The light was brighter The taste was sweeter The nights of wonder With friends surrounded

“And did you take to it, Jim, to Control’s theory? How did the idea strike you, overall?” “Damn silly. Poppycock.” “Why?” “Just damn silly,” he repeated in a tone of military stubbornness. “Think of any one of you – mole – mad!”

6. Love Is Blindness – Morten Schantz Trio

Not for the first time, Smiley had the distinct sense of stumbling not on Jim’s ignorance but on the relic of a willed determination not to remember. In the dark, Jim Prideaux’s breathing became suddenly deep and greedy. He had lifted his hands to the top of the wheel and was resting his chin on them, peering blankly at the frosted windscreen.

7. Found Song For P. – Max Richter

When finally the big session started – the one he remembered as the marathon – he had the disadvantage of feeling half defeated when he went in. “Matter of health, much as anything,” he explained, very tense now. “We could take a break if you want,” said Smiley, but where Jim was there were no breaks, and what he wanted was irrelevant.

8. Novelette – Dmitri Kabalevsky

“And no word from Bill?” he went on. “Not even a postcard.” “Bill was abroad,” said Jim shortly.

9. Why – Pyotr Tchaikovsky Why is the sun cold and dull in the sky, as if it were winter? Why – tell me quickly – did you forget me?

Only once, when Guillam forgot Smiley and out of instinct turned upon his own tracks, did he have a suspicion of a third figure walking with them: a fanged shadow thrown against the broadloom brickwork of an empty street, but when he started forward it was gone.

10. Circles from the Rue Simon-Crubellier – Max Richter

Then for a moment, one part of Smiley broke into open revolt against the other. The wave of angry doubt that had swept over him in Lacon’s garden, and that ever since had pulled against his progress like a worrying tide, drove him now onto the rocks of despair, and then to mutiny: I refuse.

11. Brain Damage / Eclipse – Pink Floyd And all that you love, and all that you hate All you distrust, all you save And all that you give and all that you deal And all that you buy, beg, borrow, or steal And all you create, and all you destroy

And all that is now, and all that is gone And all that's to come And everything under the sun is in tune But the sun is eclipsed by the moon

“Well, damn it, I got him back,” Haydon snapped. “Yes, that was good of you. Tell me, did Jim come to see you before he left on that Testify mission?” “Yes, he did, as a matter of fact.” …He came to warn you, Smiley thought; because he loved you… Jim was watching your back for you right till the end.

12. Comrades – Clint Mansell

Smiley shrugged it all aside, distrustful as ever of the standard shapes of human motive, and settled instead for a picture of one of those wooden Russian dolls that open up, revealing one person inside the other, and another inside him. Of all men living, only Karla had seen the last little doll inside Bill Haydon.

13. Exile - Killing Joke Outside the boundaries where all the streets are empty In such a lonely moment we reach the same conclusion Chants of cathedral choirs, stations of iron cogs grind Primeval screams we heard, release cannot be found

We that have tasted such beauties of corruption Triumphal arches raised designed to fall again My kingdom and place of exile

…in the open night under a clear sky, lit by several hand torches and stared at by several white-faced inmates of the Nursery, sat Bill Haydon on a garden bench facing the moonlit cricket field. He was wearing striped pyjamas under his overcoat; they looked more like prison clothes. His eyes were open and his head was propped unnaturally to one side, like the head of a bird when its neck has been expertly broken.

14. Like Two Strangers – Trentemøller

For the rest of that term, Jim Prideaux behaved in the eyes of Bill Roach much as his mother had behaved when his father went away… Worst of all was his staring, empty look when Roach caught him unawares, and the way he forgot things in class, even the red marks for merit: Roach had to remind him to hand them in each week.

15. Love Is Blindness – U2 Love is clockworks, and cold steel Fingers too numb to feel Squeeze the handle, blow out the candle Love is blindness, I don’t want to see Won’t you wrap the night around me?

Love is drowning in a deep well All the secrets and no one to tell

With time, Jim seemed to respond to treatment, however. His eye grew clearer and he became alert again, as the shadow of his mother’s death withdrew. By the end of the play, he was more light-hearted than Roach had ever known him.

16. Time – Hans Zimmer

“But Jim acts from instinct… he is functional… He’s my other half; between us we’d make one marvellous man, except that neither of us can sing.”

17. You Always Hurt the One You Love – Connie Francis You always hurt the one you love The one you shouldn't hurt at all You always take the sweetest rose And crush it till the petals fall

You always break the kindest heart With a hasty word you can't recall So if I broke your heart last night It's because I love you most of all

started and fin. 2012.

#fanmix #tinker tailor soldier spy #jim prideaux #haydeaux

9 notes · View notes

ariel-seagull-wings · 2 years

Text

FICTIONAL CHARACTER ASK: SLEEPING BEAUTY

@grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales @faintingheroine @the-blue-fairie @princesssarisa @angelixgutz @themousefromfantasyland @softlytowardthesun

Tagged by no one. I just wanted the chance to talk about her character.

Favorite Thing About Them: She is a sweet and sensitive romantic dreamer with a playfull and energetic sense of humour, and i love how adaptations of her tale can have a creatively surreal atmosphere to explore a variety of themes like a young woman’s coming of age and the desire of a parent to protect their child against pain and mortality, the virtue of patience, the cicles of nature, the nature of dreams themselves, the social dinamics between the Royals and the Peasant Workers and the eternal fight between Love and Death.

Least Favorite Thing About Them: The atempts at analising this tale tend to be very poor: we tend to focus so much in the scene of the Princess waking up with the Prince’s kiss (wich was a modern adition by Grimm and Tchaikovsky that didn’t appear in previous versions of the tale) that we ignore the whole narrative journey that tooked us to that ending and other scenes rich in a variety of themes and emotions: her parents longing for a child, the power play between the Fairies, her father’s decision of destroying all spinning wheels and needles in an atempt of fighting fate and compromising the financial oportunities of several subjects, her curiosity in touching the spindle when seeing the Old Woman working in the spinning wheel, the Fairies enchanting all court and staff in the castle to sleep along the Princess, the Adventurous Man who died empaled in thorns trying to enter the castle, the local peasants telling several tales about the castle that excite the Prince’s curiosity, the joyfull party when the Hundred Years of Sleep is over and every person in the castle is woken up again. Sleeping Beauty is excentially a gender bent King Under the Mountain, who is expected to wake up to bring happiness to people. And she is not the only one who has to wait for the Prince’s arrival to wake up: everyone in the castle is waiting with her for the awakening! If people mock the heroine for waiting the Prince to rescue her, why aren’t the other people who also slept for a Century mocked as well?!

(I think i know why, but i am afrayed of the answer...)

Three Things I Have In Common With Them:

I daydream constantly

I sleep for a long time

I can sometimes be introspective and a bit lonely

Three Things I Don’t Have In Common With Them:

I have no interest in learning to spin and sew

I am not royalty

I am single

Favorite Line:

This line she says to the Prince in the Perrault version

Is it you, dear prince? You have been long in coming!

These lines she says to the Old Spinner in the Grimm’s version

Good day, old woman. What are you doing there?

What is that thing that is so merrily bouncing about?

brOTP: Her Fairy Godmothers

OTP: Her Prince in the Perrault and Grimm versions and its several adaptations, the Flute Player in Ludwig Bechstein’s and Andrew Lang’s The Three Musicians and Leo the Gardener in Matthew Bourne’s production of Tchaikovsky’s Ballet.

nOTP: Caradoc, the son of Carabosse in Matthew Bourne’s production of Tchaikovsky’s Ballet.

Random Headcanon: In Tchaikovsky’s Ballet, wich is a combination of several Charles Perrault and Madame D’Aulnoy fairy tales, her mother is Donkeyskin. That is why the Lilac Fairy from that fairy tale is also her Fairy Godmother and so proeminent in the ballet.

Unpopular Opinion: There is a variant with an alternative to the Big Damn Kiss: in The Three Musicians, written by Ludwig Bechstein and collected by Andrew Lang in his Green Fairy Book, the Princess is put to sleep by the song of an enchanted bird. The hero, the Flute Player, takes the bird, kills it, burns the birds hearth and puts some of the ashes over the Princess’s lips, making her and all the people in her castle wake up. I wish more adaptations used that method of waking her up instead of only the kiss introduced in the Grimm version and popularized by Tchaikovsky’s Ballet.

Song I Associate With Them:

The Apoteosis from the Third Act of Tchaikovsky’s Ballet.

Favorite Picture of Them:

This illustration by Edmund Dulac

This illustration by Gustave Doré

This illustration by Trina Schart Hyman

Tuula Rosenqvist in Prinsessa Ruusunen

Juliane Korén in 1971′s Dornröschen

Marie Horáková in Jak Se Budí Princezny

Bernadette Petters in Faerie Tale Theatre

Lotte Flack in Sechs Auf Einen Streich

Hannah Vassallo in Mathew Bourne’s production of Tchaikovsky’s Ballet

#sleeping beauty #briar rose #fairy tales #folklore #fantasy #mythology #ballet #literature

24 notes · View notes

amaribelt · 9 months

Text

vera rambles while i work on her ref

so even though ive never posted art of vera i love her so much and she has so much lore so heres a ramble post with details of vera and how she connects to the briar valley, chapter 7 spoilers kinda its just valley info from chapter 7

so even though vera is based on the fates from greek myth the fairys from sleeping beauty are also based on the fates so double lore, vera specifically is based off of Clotho who spun the threads of life. we all know red string aus so i wont really get into it but in greece textiles were used to convey a tangible destiny. her sisters are based off of the other two fates but this isnt about them.

the original concept for veras UM was that if she 'marks' a person red string will connect from that chosen person to the important people in their life showing how they interconnect. these strings arent tangable to anyone other than vera and her sisters but they can easily get tangled so she tends to cut them shortly after.

SPINNING WHEELS DONT HAVE STABBY BITS I AM TIERD OF THE SPINNING WHEEL PROPAGANDA look at them stabby free

so the story of sleeping beauty aroura pricked her finger on a sharp bit from unpurified material on a drop spindle an antique drop spindle is pictured below ((this ones from turkey look at it its so cool!!! (>v<) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ))

her magic wand is a drop spindle embedded with a magic gem its been passed down from fate spinner to fate spinner for generations, she spins thread on her drop spinner and a spinning wheel to destress but refuses to stop spinning until shes done with the material she swears that it will ruin the thread.

shes a seamstress and a tailor although she doesnt "have the time" to weave her own fabric she does spin her own thread and is very meticulous full clean stitching and clean cutting when making shirts theirs not a thread cut off grain and shes very proud of her work

its impied that their are generational or family specific UMs like idia and malleus and the Ventura family is no different, its specific to the woman of the ventura family sisters and daughters are the only ones who can play with fate. Veras eldest sister is started working with Maleficia "fairy recently" by fae standards

briar valley has historical fashion i dont care what you say shes my cute little victorian woman and i love her and everything, she has a bunch of outfits from the regency era witch i like to belive is pre draconia rule, she would never wear them out but likes to wear them around the house or when shes spinning late into the morning. her normal dress is much more victorian sometimes edwardian and she has the most canonical outfits of all my characters because its a huge part of her character.

she runs her own tailor shop with her middle sister, they dont see their eldest sister very much as shes always working in the castle.

thats all the vera lore rn anyways i love her alot and shes very pretty

#amari writes stuff or something #amari rambles #oc lore #disney twst #twst oc

4 notes · View notes

seanait · 1 year

Text

[Dear Vocalist] 千歳サラ - Beyond_the_pain

People from Dearvo discord server accidentally reminded me that this gem existed.

undefined

youtube

And, since there was no translation (to my knowledge) and my brain got curious, I took it upon myself to translate the lyrics. I’m sure that there are a lot of mistakes and this will forever haunt me but oh well c”:

Note that I took some liberties to make the text sound more natural, so to speak.

Nobody Knows Border of Dream and the Pain

Never ever Never

I hear a coarsened noise-like voice

Do not show me your sullied dream

The masses’ trivial love is fake

Smell the gunpowder from the muzzle pointed at you

Do not show you boring Dream

Does not Feel it boring Love

I’ve decided that affection* isn’t scary

Do not show Hope my eyes

Do not let Voice of Fake

A sharp sensation awakens in me

Never Die passion leads to survival

We look for tomorrow equipped with sorrow

Get it On even if contradictory urges collide

Will you stay with me？Set you wishes free

Towards the unending tomorrow

Don’t expect impermanence

Something like that is not pretty at all

Even a domesticated dog will bite

This amount of love in not enough

Do not show you boring Dream

Does not Feel it boring Love

Even if you want to tear it off

Do not show Hope my eyes

Do not let Voice of Fake

Even if your mouth is parched

Sweet the Pain fill this sad world

With your requiem dyed in despair

Beyond the Pain isn’t it scary

To go over the limit？Fresh blood

Readily makes a risky choice

Nobody Knows Border of Dream and the Pain

Never ever Never

Do not show you boring Dream

Does not Feel it boring Love

The wheel of fate is spinning

Do not show Hope my eyes

Do not let Voice of Fake

Needles of pain have disappeared

Beyond the Pain

Never Die passion leads to survival

We look for tomorrow equipped with sorrow

Get it On even if contradictory urges collide

Will you stay with me？Set you wishes free

Towards the unending tomorrow

Nobody Knows Border of Dream and the Pain

Never ever Never

*I’ve decided to use the archaic meaning here because it would suit the theme of the project and the sometimes questionable expressions of love that happen in some of the characters’ drama tracks.

#tzago's ramblings #tzago translates #dearvo #never again #i won't translate lyrics until i get 100% better at japanese #please ignore it or feel free to point out the mistakes or ask for original lyrics #Youtube #dear vocalist

8 notes · View notes

greypetrel · 1 year

Text

Oh no, @ndostairlyrium tagged me again so I have to pick other songs from the playlists! :"( ALAS what a dreadful fate. Thank you for enabling me 💜

Game rules: choose one of your characters and list songs that fit them

Aisling Lavellan

- The Water, Johnny Flinn feat. Laura Marling Now deeper the water I sail / And faster the current I'm in / That each night brings the stars / And the song in my heart / Is a tune for the journeyman's tale

- Kells Destroyed, Bruno Coulais Instrumental for the VIBES.

- Lay me Down, The Oh Hello's See, I was born a restless, wayward child / I could here the whole world calling me outside / Of the masses I routinely sat behind / And Lord, I had to see with my own eyes (I was there, Gandalf. Before everyone got mad with Soldier, Poet, King, which isn't even their best song, sorry not sorry)

Raina Hawke

- Anti-Hero, Taylor Swift Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby / And I'm a monster on the hill / Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city / Pierced through the heart, but never killed

- Scotland the Braver, Captain Fantastic OST Again, instrumental for the VIBES.

- Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, Mago de Oz I come home, in the mornin' light / My mother says, "When you gonna live your life right?" / Oh momma dear, we're not the fortunate ones / And girls, they wanna have fun / Oh girls just wanna have fun

Alyra Mahariel

- War Pigs, Black Sabbath Now in darkness, world stops turning / Ashes where their bodies burning / No more war pigs have the power / Hand of God has struck the hour

- Spot, Jed Kurzel Instrumental for the VIBES. Also this movie is underrated.

- Siúil a Rún, Clannad I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel / I’ll sell my only spinning wheel / to buy my love a sword of steel / Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan ( And may you go safely, my darling )

Again, not tagging people because I'm afraid to perster, comment with the funniest idiom in your mothertongue to take litterally and I'll add the tag! (In italian we say "In the ass of the whale!" to mean "Good luck", for example)

#oc ask game #dragon age #tag game #music #aisling lavellan #raina hawke #alyra mahariel #anti-hero is my hawke song I don't care if it's basic you don't live only of obscure songs

4 notes · View notes

sometimes-love-is-enough · 2 years

Note

I absolutely adored melliferous! It hurt and hurt and haunts me still... On a related note, do you think there was ever any chance for a happy ending, in this story or the original Orpheus and Eurydice myth? If there was a way that they could live, how would it go?

I have a lot of big feelings and also an unfinished video essay on the nature of cyclical tragedies. That is to say, there is a short answer and a long answer to this question.

The short answer, for melliferous at least, is that people tell the story again and again and the wheel slowly turns and inch by painful inch it gets better. Just a bit better. I consider It's Okay My Dear (This Is A Circular Story) and come my way and stay to be the 'good endings' of the melliferous universe, or at least the best possible ways things can turn out.

The short answer for Orpheus and Eurydice is that there was (pardon the pun) never a chance in hell.

The long answer is that I've been stuck at home for several months now and my brain is starting to eat itself, and I recently bought tickets to a pantomime that's showing at my local theatre early next month. I haven't been to the theatre for ages now and just buying the tickets nearly made me cry. More than that, I haven't seen a pantomime in nearly two years, which is an awful shame because they're goofy and fun and I love yelling at the stage and making loving fun of the actors and being a bizarre side-part of the story from the shadows. There's really something fascinating about mediums where the audience and the actors and the authors become blurred, but that's a set of musings for another day.

The point here is that when the terrible monster rises up behind the heroes on stage you're meant to shout IT'S BEHIND YOU, IT'S BEHIND YOU! at the top of your lungs, a Greek chorus of warning rising up en masse from the audience. And when the heroes frown and cup their hands behind their ears and say what, what did you just say, I can't hear you! you're meant to shout it again, and you're meant to laugh when the hero is surprised at the monster leaping on them. Because it is, it is really quite funny, but there's also an infuriating sort of inevitability to it because they were never going to hear you, and even if they did they were never, ever going to listen to your warnings no matter how loudly you shouted and no matter how honestly you cared despite all of the narrative signs to the contrary telling you this is just a silly story, don't get so involved.

There's only so much leeway for flexibility in pantomimes. Sometimes the audience will call out something that allows for a small shift in the story, a new running joke that the actors will seizes and spin in for the rest of the show, maybe a slight twist in events like a river's brief diversion as things go briefly off the rails, but the show always has to go on. Things always have to go back to the script, and the show will always run its merry way all the way to its (extremely silly) conclusion. It's theatre. It's comedy. You can't change the ending.

And the thing is, comedy and tragedy are siblings, they're twins, and they work best in tandem, so maybe pantomimes aren't so different from Greek tragedies after all. We're all sitting in the dark watching it unfold, and every one of us knows how it's going to end, we can feel the plot plunging down and swinging forwards like an excecutioner's axe but there's not a single thing we can do to stop it. And so we sit there and we watch as the monster that is fate creeps up closer and closer.

The audience is yelling at Orpheus. Can't you hear how loudly they're yelling? Listen, they're telling him, please listen to us. Don't turn back! SHE'S BEHIND YOU! SHE'S BEHIND YOU!

But you wouldn't go to a pantomime if you knew that the performers were going to listen to you. It's so much funnier if they don't. It's the peak of comedy, when they ignore you and when the monster seizes them from behind with claws as sharp as any tragedy. The audience is laughing so hard! Listen to them go! They're falling over each other in stitches, they're laughing so hard they're crying! Orpheus is turning back and his eyes are wide and it's the funniest thing in the world, it really really is, that look on his face when he realizes that he was never going to make it. He's laughing! He's laughing so hard he's crying! Why are you crying, Orpheus? If you didn't want it to go this way, you should have listened to the audience! Silly boy.

They never do, of course. None of them ever really listen. But we keep coming back to watch them all over again anyway, and maybe that's the point. Maybe the pain is the reason why.

#melliferous #asks

17 notes · View notes

comparativetarot · 2 years

Photo

The Wheel of Fortune. Art by Vivien Stewart-Jones, from the Lovely Day Tarot.

Changing fortune

Meaning: Positive change of circumstance in area indicated by other cards in the reading. The end of a cycle and beginning of a new one.

Reversed: The Wheel turns down and there are unexpected difficulties and the start of a negative phase, however the Wheel is ever moving and this bad luck will end in time.

Description: A young fellow rides a strange bike a bit like an old Penny-farthing . A bird looks alarmed by his daring antics and carefree attitude and the lad’s dog barks at him as she spins on the small farthing wheel behind him, like a performing circus animal. His pet rodent tries to maintain momentum on the front wheel. They are all crossing over water, suspended over Yin and Yang who forever turn, just as the wheel does; the scene symbolizes eternal movement. All looks bright and cheery at this high point, but the cycle “turns on a sixpence” signifying this could all change in a moment.

Everything is spinning. For every bright time, there will be a dull one and we should enjoy good fortune to the full whilst we have it. When fortune turns against us we must remember that these are phases that pass and happier times will return, but we must never take them for granted. The whole scene around the cycle appears to be reflected as a mirror image around Yin and Yang. The small denominations depicted here emphasize that even small things are a gift. Life can sometimes be like tossing a coin and accepting what fate offers; there is also the saying: 'sixpence none the richer' too!

#Vivien Stewart-Jones #Lovely Day Tarot #The Wheel #Major Arcana #Tarot #Animals #Dog #Birds

6 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

gearing-photography

FDA Professional Photography

starlings-things

Akichang

ghostl0re

shampss

eevee-yew

EeveeYew